One Lump, Or Two?

Early Tuesday morning, I woke up with this intense pain in the back of my head. I got out of bed, and went into the bathroom to check it. I felt around it, and it was a lump, the size of a golf ball. I never felt anything like this before in the back of my head. It hurt.
“Madelene! Feel this. What is that?”
“Hmm, did you clunk yourself somehow?”
“No.”
“Did you hit your head on the night stand by accident while you were sleeping?”
“Err, no…I don’t believe so.” I said, as I kept feeling around this lump.
“Well it’s good that it’s tender to the touch, and not hard as a rock with no feeling whatsoever.” Madelene says.

The day went on, I tried to work, but my eyes started seeing double as the letters scrambled all over my computer like little ballerinas. The pain kept getting more and more intense. I took my temperature, and it was 100 degrees. Hmm. Was it a lymph node on the back of my head? On my skull? Believe me, I was reading every diagnosis on the internet. Bad move! Don’t do it if you have a medical problem. There are so many alarming ~guesses~ on there, enough to give you paranoia. I decided to just take some ibuprofen to reduce the pain and swelling and to lower my fever.

That evening, my pain was pulsing like a heart beat. Madelene came home and I was laying on the couch lifeless. My head, neck and now legs were in pain. (???) I couldn’t make what this thing was. Every part of my body hurt from this big lump on my head. The lump got a little larger and my pain got that much worse.
“We’re going to the doctor now.” Madelene says, as she gets her things.
“Mad, the doctor isn’t open now, it’s 9:30pm.”
“I’m taking you to the emergency room.”

I hope one day Madelene doesn’t decide to become an EMT worker, because we were traveling at the speed of 25 mph on the thruway. Not only was her lack of speed becoming more questionable, but her lack of night vision became a concern too.
“Mad? Do you have night vision? You’re going across the lines here.”
“Don’t talk, let me drive and I will get you there in one piece.” She says, all angry that I insulted her granny driving skills.
“Thank God I’m not dying here or bleeding profusely.” I said, and chuckled as she had the same posture and driving techniques as Mr. Magoo.

I was dreading going to the ER because they take hours before they even get you into the examination table. The first step is registering, which may take you up to thirty minutes, depending on your insurance and what not. One time I was rushed there due to an allergic reaction to something, my throat was closing up and I nearly fainted right there as I walked in. No one took that as a sign that I ‘may’ be a priority case here.

I walk into the ER, and they immediately took me in. The male nurse took my blood pressure which was 104/62. Hmmm… I’m usually 110/80. This was different. My blood pressure was never that low before. Is it bad that it’s too low? Is that too low? The male nurse didn’t say much about it, so I didn’t concern myself. I started wondering what cologne he was wearing, because he smelled so good. He brought me out to register with this nice, tall skinny lady with big hair. Her heels were almost 'go-go dancer' high, and her outfit was very professional. It was an interesting mix.

“Date of birth?" She asks.
“Two four, seventy four.”
“You’re social security number?”
I mumbled this lowly so no one else on the other side of the cubical would steal my identity. Hell---if they saw me that night, who on God’s green earth would want to anyway?
“In case of emergency, who do we contact?”
“911.” I said, chuckling from my delirium at this point.
“No, I’m sorry. Madelene. 555-2323.”
“What relation is Madelene to you?”
“Partner, girlfriend.” I said, wondering if she was going to think Madelene was a business partner and a gal pal. Lovely. I outed myself in the hospital. Hate that.

They send me over to a room with a T.V. and bathroom. This was within the emergency room. I have never seen such a nice set up before. Everything smelled like cherries, and it was so amazingly quiet. Where was I again? Usually, when I have an episode, or some sort of trauma, this same emergency room is total chaos that smells like crap. No one had a room-like set up with a T.V.and their own bathroom.

Great. I had to go since the whole ride here! I ran straight for the bathroom since I was going to wait an hour for the doc. To my surprise, the toilet had left over remains of vomit in it. The toilet seat had smears of fecal matter all over it.

“Oh…my…sweet…Lord.” I said, slowly, backing up, thinking strategic ways to open that door without touching the handle. I walk out quickly, using the paper towel for a glove. I look up, and saw a black nurse with the biggest eyes I have ever seen in my life. She almost saw right through me; her eyes almost poking at me, even though I was across the room. She must have known my dilemma by the horror on my face, and the fact that there was no sound of the toilet flushing or water running. They're going to think it was me who made that horrific mess! Great. The male doctor walked into my section and asked me to sit on the bed. The nurse fluffed my pillows up, and adjusted it so I can lay upright.

“So what’s the problem.” Doc says, as he folds his arms, hiding his clipboard.
I tell him my situation.
“Is it one lump or two?”
“Just one.”
He starts to feel the side of my head where the lump is, and then feels the other side to compare.
“Hmm, yeah there is a lump here. Does it hurt when I do this?”
“OOOOWWW!!!! Yes!”

Doc pulls out his clipboard and then decides that it was an automatic diagnosis.
“This in an infection of some sort, may be from a spider bite, a mosquito bite, and also from a number of things. The best way we can zap this is to give you a strong antibiotic and a pain killer.”

That’s it? That was all I got? He felt me for five seconds and determined that it was an infection? He couldn’t even see what it was because it was through my hair. How can he make this assumption so quickly? This puzzled me. Was I just a number in that ER? Did they need that luxurious space for someone else more needy? Wait till they see that bathroom.

He walked out to get my prescription.
“See? Don’t you feel better now that you know what it is?” Madelene asks, smiling.
“No! I don't...Do you? Do you feel safe that he was a bit too quick with this?” I said.
“They know right away, Deb.”
“What if it’s this major tumor? What if I am growing another head for the love of God???” I panicked.

The googly-eyed nurse walked back into my section. She gives me my prescription and pain killers. I couldn’t stop looking at those big eyes. They were so fascinating. She was the nicest nurse, but those eyes! Those eyes! I couldn’t help but stare. In fact, I hardly heard one word she said to me.
“Usually when there is an abscess near the scalp and head, it causes a lot of pain. So the medicine will definitely help. Here, sign here…and if you can, please fill out this survey and bring it up to me. Uh, don’t forget to bring me back my pen.” She says, laughing on her way out.

Was she laughing because she thought it was just a big zit on my scalp? I came all the way to the ER to get a zit checked out? I felt belittled in a sense, I didn’t know whether to laugh or call 911 right in the ER!

"Here's some zit cream, call us in the morning." They might as well have said that!

I am currently writing this in my bedroom, still with this huge lump on my head. I almost decided to make out a will on my blog, (just in case), but that would be a bit dramatic, especially if it was just a zit. Imagine?

I wanted to blog before I take my pain killers and go into lala land. If anyone may know a diagnosis to my problem, please put it in the comment section. I still feel the need to ask another doctor…in fact, I have an appointment with one tomorrow for a second opinion. A little obsessive? Maybe. Will it give me peace of mind? Definitely.

Diagnose away! Give me your advice. I need it.

Left Thankless

Hey Deb,

I was just about to turn off my computer & call it a night when something popped into my head.
I was thinking about what you've been going through lately. It reminded me of something my old roommate went through. For a while, she was getting strong heart palpitations in the middle of the night. It got so bad that she had to wear a heart monitor. I told her to wake me up anytime it got to be too much. I was happy that she took me up on my offer. She's a very private person. We'd watch tv or play this electronic word game I had. (she was much better at it than me even with the palpitations). I'd like to extend the same offer to you. Unfortunately, its a bit of a trek for you to knock on my door like she used to. But I keep my phone by my bed. Please call me anytime you think I'd be the right person to talk to. I know Madelene is there for you. But there may come a time when a goofball like me is the right person at that particular moment. And if I'm too tired to talk, I'll be honest & let you know.

Don't say thanks, but you'd feel too imposing to call. In fact, don't say anything; don't even respond to this email. I'm just offering. Keep it in the back of your mind. That's all.

City Mouse

Okay City Mouse. I’m not saying one word through an e-mail to you. I’m not saying “thank you” over the phone or sending you some cheesy @ss e-card to show you my appreciation for being so understanding, nor will I send you a greeting card through snail mail to tell you how grateful I am that you’re my friend, and how wonderful I think you are. I will not ever tell you how happy that you and I crossed paths.

Don’t think for one minute that I am trying to get across how special of a friend you are to me. I’m not saying “thanks”…AND, no, I would call you up at 2am just to harass you, not for anything else.

I will not tell you how your intellectual wit and sense of humor relieves me of all my stress. No. You will get no appreciation here. I’m not going to say how helpful you have been by making me laugh ever since we met. Nope. Not getting that either.

So here is my blog, to you, City Mouse. It’s a blog of non-appreciation for you. A blog to tell many people out there about this amazing woman, who really made a difference in my life---however, I won’t tell you that, dear City Mouse.

With that—don’t thank me. Don’t even respond to this blog. Hopefully you won’t read this blog, but unfortunately you comment on most…(hehe)

You’re a definite ‘keeper’ and a friend I know I will have for a very long time. I’m not saying a word.

For all who don't quite know me, I suffer from anxiety attacks which then leads me to be lifeless for a day or two sometimes. It has been really bad lately, where I have been getting heart palpitations, chest pains, and it feels like my throat is closing up every single night when I try to go to sleep. I can't figure out what's bothering me though. A lot has transpired with my work and writing--but in a good sense. Nothing at all is really 'stressing' me out. They say it's a chemical imbalance. Well, yeah, so is my OCD manias, but that's only the fun side of me.

Now, since my dear friend does not want me to thank her or tell her that I appreciate her offer, I have to blog this.

For all of you who do suffer from panic attacks, do you have any advice for me? I do see a therapist to 'talk' to, but to tell you the truth, my friends should be billing me instead.

And to all of you who don't know my good friend, visit her blog. http://www.witiot.blogspot.com/

Her blog is intellectually stimulating and comical at the same time!

Love of My Life

You’re the only one who knows me inside and out. You understand all my manias, my idiosyncrasies, and you stand by me regardless. I remember the evening you called me when we were dating.
“Deb, want some company? I’ll bring some movies over.”
“But it’s raining so hard, it’s left over from a hurricane and they told people to stay off the roads due to the horrible conditions." I said to you.
You didn’t care. You drove over an hour to see me. I opened the door to let you in, and you looked like the cutest wet & mangiest rat I have ever seen. I let you in. I hugged you regardless of how soggy you were. It was that day, I knew you loved me. It was that day, I fell in love with you, and knew I didn’t want you to ever leave.

Sunset sailing on April skies
Bloodshot fire clouds in her eyes
I can’t say what I might believe
But if God made you he’s in love with me

December 10th, 1996, I proposed to you at Bocci’s Italian restaurant. Before I popped the question, you kept b*tching and moaning how I would never commit. You said to me that I will never settle down. You were wrong. In the midst of all your ranting & raving at that table, I just placed the ring right next to your salad dish.
“What’s this?” You asked, perplexed.
“Ah, you know I hate commitments and all, so I was wondering if you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me.” I said, as I kept eating my salad.
“What?”
I looked at you, held your hand, and asked you if you would spend the rest of your life with me.
“Oh my God! Yes! I didn’t- I didn’t-I really didn’t- Oh my God!” You stuttered; left speechless.

It wasn’t long after that when you moved in with me. We started out life together. I was twenty-three years old, we had our own place and whether you knew this or not, it was one of the happiest times I can remember. I came home from work, cooked for you, did laundry and you made sure groceries were stocked, we were quite the team. We still are.

Something inside me is breaking
Something inside says there’s somewhere better than this…
Sunset sailing on April skies
Bloodshot fire clouds in her eyes
I can’t say what I might believe
But if God made you he’s in love with me
Sunset sailing on April skies
Bloodshot fire clouds in your eyes
I can’t say what I might believe
But if God made you he’s in love with me

You accept me on my bad days, you welcome me with open arms on my good days. You know every part of me; inside and out. I love you even when you’re down or having a sad day. I feel your pain. I want to make it go away, if I can. I want to cheer you up with fresh roses and make you your favorite dish. I want to give you everything you never had. I’m glad that when you are sad, you’re able to come to me. I’ll never leave you, stranded; I would never abandon you—you’re my heart. How can I abandon my own heart? Do you realize how precious you are to me? Do you realize how much I appreciate you? If you don’t…Please know that I do.

I love when you’re happy. My heart gets big when I see that awesome smile of yours. You light up a room. Your positive energy is contagious, making everyone want to be near you. You are an optimist, never seeing the glass half empty, always seeing things in such a positive outlook. You’re amazing to me. I wish I could be more like you. You’re strong, yet you have your ‘soft spots’ where you can be vulnerable. You’re accepting, even though you are tough enough to set your boundaries. You’re a woman who’s truly a gift from God. I thank Him everyday for sending you.

I love that I can be ‘me’ when I am with you. I don’t have to hold back or pretend to put on airs. You love me the way I am, all my flaws and imperfections. I love the fact that you know how to have fun, whether it be out with friends, or just the two of us being home, enjoying one another’s company. Last May, when you and I went to the beach house in Montauk, they said that it would either ‘make us’ or ‘break us’ because there was too much alone time. I never had such a wonderful time, just being with you, sitting on the beach relaxing and talking. On the cold days, we sat next to the fire and cuddled. I was never so happy in my life. I think it made us, and saved us. We’ve been through rough times, which I believe happens for a reason. It only made me appreciate you more. I realize that you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and I know that you and I were meant to be together.

I’m not sure if you know the extent of my love for you. I’m not sure if I tell you everyday. Sometimes I have problems being more open with my feelings, due to insecurities, so I am telling you here, on my blog, for all to see.

God has truly blessed me. I love you Madelene, and can’t wait to marry you...

Something inside me is breaking
Something inside says there’s somewhere better than this my love
Sunset sailing on April skies
Bloodshot fire clouds in her eyes
I can’t say what I might believe
But if God made you he’s in love with me
Sunset sailing on April skies
Bloodshot fire clouds in your eyes
I can’t say what I might believeBut if God made you… he’s in love with me… ~Five For Fighting

EYE-Yi-Yi-Yi..! Come on Doc!

Having an eye exam can be an intrusive experience. Why would I say that? See, it’s like this… Even though I had eye surgery to correct my vision two years back, I still have to go for regular check ups, just in case my cornea decides to give up, and fizzle out.

Sitting in that weird electric-chair looking contraption, with all those weird spacey looking equipment devices, you wait for the doctor to come in. You nosey around a tad, you look at all the weird little lenses he has, they’re all piled up so neatly. They even have this headpiece that almost looks as though you are on death row. You notice the huge metal mask-like goggles that can swivel over to where you sit. There are so many buttons and levers on this puppy; enough to make your head spin. The whole office looks as though it’s there to create a robot of some sort.

Now, I’ve been going to this same doctor since I was two years old. He has drawings that I did when I was four. He said to me, “If you ever get engaged Debbie, I am going to give you back your drawings and all your art work, so you can show it to your little ones when you’re married.” That always stuck in my mind. I was surprised he kept them. By the time I was twenty-five years old, I was in his office with my legally blind eyes.

“Doc, I’m engaged.”
“Wow! You are? I had no idea! I didn’t even realize you were dating anyone, Deb!”
“Well, I just wanted to let you know. You did tell me once, that I can get my art work back from when I was little, right?” I was testing him to see if he really did have my art work, and of course, I was engaged too.
“Of course!” He says, all excited, as he fumbles through the file cabinet and retrieved my drawings.
“Oh my God! I can’t believe you still have these!” I started flipping through all of them. Some of them were even writings of when I was six years old, making up weird poems. I was a writer back then too! Amazing. My drawings were of course stick figures, and if anyone knows my art work, they would laugh if they saw these pictures. I was quite the amateur back then.

“So Deb, who’s the lucky man?” Doc asks, as he starts to swivel that scary machine over to my eyes.
“Oh, it’s just Madelene outside in the waiting room.” I said, nonchalantly. Madelene sees him too for regular eye exams, and thinks she's just one of my buddies.
The scary machine gets swiveled back to the other side, away from my face, so that Doc and myself and now eye-to-eye.
“Oh?” He says, with his eyebrows raised up to the sky, looking puzzled as if he was legally blind.
“I’m gay.”
“Oh!”
“Doc, it’s okay, examine my eyes.” I said, to get that awful weird feeling out of the air.
“Well I’m so happy for you!” He says, as he slaps me on the knee. Okay, that was just awkward.
“Thanks Doc.”

The scary machine is back up against my face. My face pressed against this thing, touching its padding. I wonder if he cleans it off with an alcohol swab. So many people he sees, so many germs on this horrifying contraption. A whole slew of Hasidim Jews left the office when I walked in. Don’t they think the same thing I do when they sit here, face pressed against this dirty mask? They don’t even want to touch our hands when exchanging money, how can they think this is cleaner? Awful.

The doctor presses his face against the scary machine on the other side. Here’s my problem with this. Not only is he almost straddling me, maneuvering his legs so it intertwines with mine, but he is breathing right in my mouth and nose area. This is awful. I can smell whatever it was he had for lunch. I think on that particular day, it was tacos with extra onions. Couldn’t he at least pop a breath mint before getting up close and personal? I try holding my breath for a little longer, hoping that he is finished examining that one eye. I breathe in, when he does, so that his breath doesn’t become my oxygen.

“If only….. I can….…just….slip…..one…..breath mint…… into his mouth…..life would be that much sweeter.” I think to myself, as his halitosis invades every part of my being. Every second feels like an hour. I’m suffocating. Houston, we have a problem. Mayday! Mayday! I’m going down! S.O.S.!!! Someone please help me! I scream this in my head the whole entire time.

The scary metal mask gets swiveled away, and I am in the clear. Fresh air, finally! The one thing I love about my doctor that literally saves me, is that he has been wearing the same cologne since I was two years old. It smells so incredibly good; I just breathe it in with no problem. He never changes it. It’s his trademark. You smell that cologne, you know he is in the general area. I even once tracked him down in an art store with his wife, because I followed my nose. No lie, true story! I just wish he kept up with his breath.

After tons of drops poured into my eyes, he brings over the glaucoma testing machine. This is almost as worse than the scary metal mask thingie. My eyes start to dilate, making me look like a huge crackhead. He moves up right back in my space again and tells me to place my chin on the chinpad. Of course, thoughts swing back to, “Did he swab this down with alcohol? I don’t smell alcohol, this doesn’t smell too clean…I need to disinfect myself when I get the hell outa’ here!”

“Okay……open your eyes wide, and don’t blink.” He says slowly.
Yeah that’s great. Don’t blink. An involuntary action your brain controls. Lovely. Keep in mind, if I do blink, the metal little device is sitting flat on my eyeballs. That would hurt like hell if I did blink. My brain listens to me. My brain obeys the ‘no blinking rule’. The weird florescent, purple hued light shines brightly into my eyes. The eerie thing about this machine is, you can see the doctor’s eyes looking right back at yours. Ew. I’m staring into my doctor’s eyes! This is so awkward.
“Keep looking straight into my eyes.” He says, in a meditative weird, psycho, pedophile-like tone.
Again, the breath. This is so not good. Can he read my mind, since he is looking straight into my eyeballs? He can read my thoughts, my eyes are dilated so much, he can hear me think. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD--GET A BREATH MINT! EYE DOCTORS NEED DENTAL PLANS TOO! A PIECE OF GUM WOULD NOT HURT YOU!!! But I kept quiet. This is way too intrusive. I want out. He moves the machine away from my eyes. I'm now literally blind from the lights that forced its way into my brain.

“Okay. You’re all done! I’ll see you in six months. Let me know if you see any blinking lights, call me if that happens.” He says, as he writes me my next appointment on his business card.
“Great. I’ll call you when I’m in a club, as the strobe lights flicker.” I reply.

He laughs at me, and says, “Don’t ever change Deb, and good luck with your engagement.”

Not only was his ‘best wishes’ very awkward, so was that whole entire visit.

B-Bananas B * A * N * A * N * A * S !!!

Okay. God has played a cruel joke on me. As I was preparing to get ready to go out with Madelene this evening, I was getting rid of old receipts and tissues from my purse. I noticed that a clump of tissues had brown stains on it.

Hmm.

I started unloading more of my garbage from this deep bottomless pit. I grabbed what looked like an old, disgusting, already been smoked cigar out of my bag. I smelled it. It smelled sweet, almost like brandy. Did I ever purchase a brandy dipped cigars? Hmm.

I dig deeper.

I then grab what appears to be a small black leather case. It almost resembled an eyeglass case, but smaller. It was slimy, and sticky. Why?

I then realized it was a rotted banana. NO LIE! I swear! This was weird, because if you read my previous blog, you will know why this is freaking me out.

The post I wrote about going to the doctor's office for my blood tests, I failed to tell you that I had put a banana in my purse, in case I felt faint and needed something to eat, due to fasting the night before and not eating breakfast. People---this was weeks ago!

Never venture into the rotted banana zone. It's not fun. I had to throw away my purse, and fortunately I had another one to take its place.

Apple of My Eye

“I brought you a bag of apples from the farm market where I live Deb.”
“Really? Thanks! I’ll eat one tomorrow morning.” I said, sitting on my bedroom floor, blowing heavenly scented smoke from my lips.
“Well, okay. They’re in my car. I’ll come back tomorrow morning and bring them back.” Madelene says, as her eyes are getting red and glassy.
“Just leave them here tonight, so I can have the apples tomorrow. You don’t have to drive over an hour away, just to bring them back.” I suggested, coughing over the good pot my friend had given me. At the age of twenty, I thought my days of pot were over. This was the first time since I was sixteen that I tried it again.
“No, I’ll come back tomorrow to drop them off.”
“Madelene! They’re in your car, right? We can just get them out tonight. Leave them here, instead of you coming back in the morning to drop them off. It’s senseless.”
“That’s okay. I don’t mind.” Madelene replies.
“You’re a fool.” I said, as I started laughing so hard, I couldn’t breathe.

Madelene and I were hysterical for about a good hour from that conversation alone. It didn’t make sense though. If she has the apples in her car, outside my house, why would she want to drive over an hour away just to bring them back? I really thought she was going insane. I couldn’t make sense of this.

Years later, Madelene admits to the truth of that crazy evening. We were only dating for about two months. I loved my space back then, and only saw her on the weekends—but just for one evening. Sometimes I’d go for two weeks. Madelene explained to me years later after we started living together that the reason she wanted to bring the apples back over the next morning, was to see me again. Why couldn’t she have just said, “Deb, can I see you tomorrow?” I guess she would have known the answer to that. I personally thought it was cute.

Fast forward nine years, my friend Lisa and I were sitting on the couch on a Sunday morning drinking coffee. At that time, Madelene and I were separated for a little bit. Lisa was a really good friend to me back then (still is) and helped me through a lot. We were discussing ~womanly~ things. Both Lisa and I were in the dating pool, and were discussing how unclean some women can be. Yes. I’m talking about ‘that’. Hygiene clean--and what not. I had explained to Lisa that a girl I was seeing had a problem. Lisa was perplexed by this, and didn’t know what I was referring to.

Here’s how I explained it:

Everyday when you walk into your favorite room, it smells like apples. Fresh, clean, and eatable. You’ve become accustom to this fresh scent, and it’s pleasing to you. You look forward to coming back into your favorite room, smelling like fresh apples. It’s ripe, delicious and just magnificent. One day, you come back to your favorite room, and the whole entire place reeks of bad bananas.
“This is not the smell I am used to! It’s way too pungent and strong. What happened to my fresh apples?”
The badly bruised banana scent wafts through the room, up into your nose, making you almost want to gag and throw those puppies out. Who left those rotten bananas out for so long? Where did the fresh apples go?

Get it?

No???

Ask someone to explain it. This blog is rated PG-13.

Lisa got it, started laughing and then asked me if this was true.
“Lisa, I don’t know, but it’s like fruit de jour down there, and it’s becoming alarming. I can’t just ask her what’s up with her fruit basket, it may be a medical problem or something.”
I left Lisa in a state of shock. She has never experienced such a traumatic encounter as I have. The question remains, do you walk back into that room of pungent, bad banana aromas—or do you run away, hoping for the apples to return? Do you ask the room why the fruits have taken a turn for the worse? Or do you simply just let it go, and make the best of what you have? From that day on, Lisa and I refer to 'feminine hygiene', as ‘good apples, and bad apples’. If the woman was older, we would call her a Granny Smith. If she was a hot young thing, we’d say she’d probably have a nice Macintosh.

Sick. I know. It’s all about the apples here.

Picture it. Provincetown, MA. 2003. I’m walking over to Lisa’s suite to see if she was finished getting ready, so we can all go out to dinner. She called from the window and said she would be down in a few minutes. I waited for her outside, near a patio table. Low and behold, there is a huge Granny Smith apple sitting on the table, alone, and looking ripe as ever. I personally thought that Lisa was playing a trick on me, to get me to laugh. This apple looked so amazingly fresh and delicious, I wanted to just pick it up and take a huge bite out of it. It almost appeared as though it was one of those props, like fake fruit that people keep on their dining room table just for show.

Lisa opens the door to walk outside. She is all ready to go out and failed to realize what was sitting on the table. I couldn’t believe she didn’t notice this! Was she blind?
“Lisa. Look!”
“Ha-ha-ha!!! I wanted to see if you would notice it! I was hysterically laughing when I walked back to my room, and purposely left it there, hoping no one would take it!” She said.

Apples are tempting. Some apples are good, and some apples are bad…just ask Eve.

From Apples to Oranges

A drastic change has taken place for a New York City woman. Instead of attending events held in the ‘Big Apple’, she will now be apart of Orange County’s finest, “Orange Pride Group”. I’m pleased to announce that Tara has been a member of the “Big Apple Club” for a decade or so, and now deciding to venture up to good ol’ Orange County; where she should be.

Tara’s mission is to accomplish peace, an accepting environment, and an atmosphere to educate straight people about our homosexual lifestyle. She wants to inform our native Orange County members of the increasing population of ‘ex’s that emerge in our community. This has become an epidemic and needs to be addressed. Tara also did vast research on the number of cats per household of each lesbian in Orange County. It’s alarming. We need to set limits to one cat per household, or less.

Tara is an open-minded woman who has the ability to make it happen, here in Orange County. It’s about time we see some real effort in supporting our gay and lesbian family, and setting a goal to achieve #1.

Vote Tara for president!
A Christian Republican Lesbian who knows her way around the fruit bowl.

Orange You Glad I Didn't Go There?

“I don’t know Deb, my girlfriend doesn’t kiss me anymore for some reason. The sex is okay, but she refuses to give me a long, passionate kiss.” I just listened and started taking bigger bites of my delicious sushi, so that I couldn’t speak clearly. It kind of reminded me of that Twix commercial, where the woman comes out into the living room and asks her husband, “Honey, does this make my butt look big?” And the only thing he could do was cram his mouth with a huge Twix bar, so that he couldn’t answer her. I looked up at Stacy, acknowledging her complaint. I stared at her slightly crooked, yellow hued teeth, wondering if I would kiss that mouth myself.
“Listen, the only thing to do here is to talk to her. Let her know that this bothers you. Take her face, and kiss her. Maybe she is insecure— I don’t know.”
“Deb, she just gives me short kisses, what is that? It’s not like a real kiss.”
I couldn’t help but stare at her mouth again. There was a major hygiene fiasco brewing in there. I didn’t have the heart to explain the possibilities of ‘why’, and I have no right to judge someone’s dental problems.

I poured Stacy another glass of sake, and poured the rest for myself. I saw the waiter shuffling over to our table.
“Ah, sake good! You wanta’ nutha botto?" He says, nodding his head up and down quickly, looking like one of those bouncy dolls in the back of an old beat up Bonneville.
“Yes. Please. Thank you!” I nod my head—almost bowing to him out of respect. He sort of reminded me of a little Chihuahua—cute, tiny and high strung. I bowed my head to let him know I appreciated his service. As if I know the customs of Japan. I’ve never been there. I do know that bowing is a respectful thing. I think? I also found out from my oldest sister who takes business trips to Japan, that you are not supposed to say “what”, or ask Japanese people to repeat themselves here in America if you do not understand them. It is an insult. But, who knows this? I never knew this.

“I giwoo a speso dis onda’ house!” The nice waiter says, while Stacy looked up at him bewildered.
“That’s nice of you, thank you.”
“What the hell did he say?" Stacy asked.
“I don’t know.” I kept eating, trying not to look up at her, so I wouldn’t laugh. Moments later, he skips over with this wooden palate of fresh oranges sliced up for dessert.
“See? Never ask a Japanese man to repeat himself, or we would have never got this extra dish.” I smile, looked at Stacy as she stared at him.

“Is it normal that I don’t want to go ‘there’.” Stacy said, and she crouched down and spoke in a low tone.
“Go where?”
“There.”
“WHERE?” I said loudly.
“Deb. I can’t do ~that~ with her.”
“Ohhh… Really? Why?”
“I don’t know, it’s just that, umm… She is not well kept.”

I threw my chopsticks down. I lost my appetite. This is a case of TMI. (Too much information) Come on, especially if you are out eating sushi, please, have respect and do not go “THERE”…

“Listen Stacy, everyone has problems in their relationship. Everyone has little gripes about something in their love lives. I guess the only advice that I can give you is to talk to her. Tell her. She probably doesn’t know her cookie looks like a Chia pet.”
We both let out a laugh, and let off this big sigh afterwards---indicating that this conversation was going to be over and done with.

Wrong.

“You know, she doesn’t shave anything hardly.” Stacy goes on to torture me with this lovely topic.
“Anything?” I ask, realizing my eel had little hairs on it (tiny bones). Lost my appetite entirely at this point.
“Yeah, like she just stops after the summer and decides that it’s no longer important to keep up with her grooming in all areas.”
Whenever someone talks about another person I know in that aspect, I can’t help to envision this work of art. Do I want to? Should I? Is it disrespectful to even be listening to all of this?
“Buy her a really good electric trimming shaver, and top-notch razors. She’ll get the hint. In fact, buy her a really good ‘grooming’ kit.” I said.

What else am I supposed to say here?

“This makes you uncomfortable. I can tell. I'm sorry...” She says to me.
“Stacy, if anyone knows me well, I am too open with my life and sexuality, however, when I know someone on a personal level, like your girlfriend, it’s hard for me to digest...literally. It puts pictures in my head. Bad ones. So, next time I see her, I may just call her Chewbacca. Not good.” I start chuckling, so she knows I'm only joking with her.

I wave the jittery waiter over so I can get the check. At this point, I wanted to jet out of there. I’m almost positive that the conservative waspy looking couple sitting behind her heard every word Stacy said. I was mortified.

What are the ‘conversation guidelines’ when sitting in a restaurant where the tables are just way too close together? I felt as though I was being insensitive to my friend’s needs. Even though we’re pretty close friends, I didn’t feel right about this whole topic. I’m friends with both her, and her girlfriend.

The cuisine and conversation did not flow well. Believe me, I talk about the most risqué subject matters, but for the love of God, not over sushi!

Potluck, Pot Roast, Poker & Picket Party

I couldn’t resist. She has done it again. Alyssa, Alyssa, Alyssa. My dear friend is stirring up the pot that had already slowed down from the likes of my wooden spoon. The Orange Pride Group has yet another battle to cease.

In case you haven’t read my post, “We’re Not Just Lesbians”, this issue is about my big mouth and sarcasm that went wrong. A lot of these ‘lesbian’ groups like to hold events that will make everyone happy. They have potluck dinners, poker parties, luaus, bowling night and firehouse parties. I wrote an e-mail in jest, ranting off some ideas of what events I think they should accommodate. Bad move. I made some comments (joking around) and some of the ladies took offense. I did apologize, however, I can’t resist poking fun at our community. I’m a bastard. I know.

Anyway, to make a short story long, I get this e-mail from one of the members who I was battling with---which we became cordial afterwards. She writes this to me:

“OK...I thought you and I came to a good place.....we laughed and put it away.......who the hell is this......????At least you had a sense of humor.....geez!I'm not touching this one......Do you know this person? Not asking for a name...just curious if you knewwhat her deal was.......”

Apparently, Alyssa had thrown them an e-mail that was much more crass than mine. She is a very comical, cynical-type of person who is a lot of fun to be around. Her sarcasm can scare anyone, easily, if they are weak in character; however, if you get to know her, she's hysterical. She is a very talented musician, has a set of pipes on her you wouldn't believe (get your minds out of the gutter gals) and she plays a mean guitar. Get to know her- she is a wonderful person in spite of her dangerous e-mails. Yes, a force to be reckoned with!

You can visit her site at: http://www.bleudogproductions.com/about.htm Check one of her shows out.

I had gut feeling I knew who e-mailed this. I chuckled for a bit, and then thought, “Eeeek! What if these ladies think it’s me?” However, that thought passed, and humor took its place. I guess it is extremely hard to find events to hold and cater to people who do have addictions with alcohol (hence going to a bar or restaurant) and being sensitive to all of that.

Question: If you hold a poker party, is that considered gambling? It’s an addiction, right? They even have gamblers anonymous. Now I can be a real jackass and go back into their website and rant & rave like a lesbian lunatic screaming, “I have a gambling addiction! How can you be so insensitive?” But, maturity is rising in my blood. I will remain quiet and let them have their poker parties. I do plan to attend one of these 'meetings' and 'social gatherings'...beware ladies! Remember, take everything with a grain of salt, right?

Okay, let’s have some firehouse fun, shall we? It’s free to hold parties there, it’s a big room, and we can put a pole in between our legs, if so desired. I hope one of these girls is a stripper. Now that’s what I call a fired up party! They even indicated that it will be “BYOB”. They answered my prayers. Being that I am an alcoholic, (not recovering or former alcoholic) but an enjoyable one at that, I appreciated their efforts in enabling my addiction.

Aside from all the tit for tat bickering that our luau lesbians have set forth, I am hoping to meet all of them, in a neutral meeting venue, which will provide sensitivity for all. Sense of humor is a must, and no weak links---or you’re out! Let’s all have fun, joke around, and take light of this situation that is set before us. Our gay & lesbian community not only needs a drink, but a good laugh to go along with it!

I’ll say cheers to that!!!

God bless!

Happy Birthday

Happy birthday to you...
Happy birthday to yooooouuuu...
Happy birthday dear Dawn...
Happy birthday to you!!!!

It’s my sister’s birthday. No, I can’t reveal her age, even though she is in her early twenties, (hehe) … Dawn’s my oldest sister. She basically brought me up while I was a baby. She would crawl into the crib with me to stop me from crying, she would feed and change me- she was like a mother to me. Now she is one of my best friends, just like my other two older sisters are. All of them are unique, different, and special in their own ways. All of them are my best friends.

Dawn is married and has a child who is similar to me. She is reliving the whole ‘mother’ thing all over again. Sometimes, Dawn will call out, “Debbie!”---when she actually means to call for her daughter, Sophia. If Sophia is going to be anything like me, Dawn’s got a lot of work ahead of her when the teen years abrupt.

I appreciate everything Dawn has done for me. She has given me encouraging words when I was down, she has giving me wonderful advice with my life, and has helped me get some terrific jobs. Dawn was very accepting when I came out and told her I was gay. This didn't change her view one bit, in fact, she would come out with me to the gay clubs to go dancing, and mingled with everybody--without feeling uncomfortable. She is truly an incredible woman.

Happy birthday Dawn!

Bastard!

“There’s something wrong with that tree.”
“Which one? That tall one over there?” I ask, looking up at this skyscraping tree.
“Yeah. There’s just something wrong with it.” Sam looks up, in deep thought of what mysterious event may have taken place there.
I get my ~psychic-voo-doo-pretend to be a ghostly medium~ hat on, and walk over to the deck, to where the tree was.
“Oh dear. This is bad, Sam. Wow. Hmm, the feeling I get with this tree, is that someone was buried here. Hold on… I’m feeling something else….Yes. Someone was buried here under negative circumstances back in the late 1800’s.” I tell him, in this meditative hocus-pocus voice.
“Really? You feel that?” He asked, still staring up at this eerie looking tree.
“Yes. Hmm…The branches are full of life from another soul from the past, that’s why you get those vibes.”

Come on Sammy boy! Have another drink! (I thought to myself) How can I tell him I had absolutely no psychic or medium powers whatsoever? This was too good.

Sam lives in a house that is very old. This mansion-like house has so many rooms, cellars, secret compartments and other mysterious doorways, I wouldn’t be surprised if you touched one of his books in his library, and the whole wall turns around and grabs you into another room. This house was owned by one of the men who died on the Titanic. Even before that time, this house was owned by governors back in the early 1900’s and possibly even earlier. Of course one can say it’s haunted, being that it has so much history to it, however, just to tease Sam until he is scared to go to sleep at night, is my source of getting a recreational high.

“Which room do you feel you have more spirits in?” I ask.
“Oh, the living room, definitely. I can’t sit in there by myself; I have to have people in there with me.” He replies.
“You know something Sam? I felt the very same thing! I walked in there, and I got goose bumps!” I tell him, with a straight face. It couldn’t have been the central air that made the room go down to twenty below.... Brrrrr!

See Sam scared. See Sam run. See Sam sell his house for a million and one.

Being that Sam secretly reads my blogs, (I found this out recently) He must have read the post, “My Sweet OCD”. It basically tells you how I am a little hesitant to drink out of someone else’s glass, or share a drink with someone, or to take a bite out of someone else’s sandwich—vise/versa. I’ve always been like that. The thought of someone drinking milk out of a milk carton in the fridge makes me queasy. That milk is now theirs…

Sam was gracious enough to share a bottle of wine from his cellar. It was a very good vintage wine---which I appreciated very much. As we all sat there talking, having a good time, I can see Sam was up to no good. His eyes had a mischievous glare about them. Was he drunk? Was he still thinking about this God forsaken tree? What was brewing? I then see him take the bottle of wine, and start drinking out of it. Lovely. This is so not what I wanted to see. This will be my last, and final glass, unless he opens another one of these puppies up. He takes another slug out of this expensive wine bottle as he stares me down to see my reaction. Bastard. I can only think this, because I was now a guest at his home. Little bastard is secretly going into my blogs to check out my pet peeves and other disorders I have. I hope he gets to read this blog---bastard! Of course I could have ran inside to grab a beer, however, wine and beer together? Just doesn’t go.

I have something in mind for you, Sam, my dear friend. Next time you are in my territory, just beware my friend. I know what irks you too. Revenge is mine.

You’ve just been blogged! I'm hoping on this beautiful Sunday morning, you are enjoying your delicious bloody mary to take good care of that wine induced hangover. Cheers!

Another Day, Another Zit

“You look so beautiful!” Madelene says, as I step out of the bathroom all ready to go out to dinner.
“Are you crazy? I look like sh*t, my hair is awful, and I had nothing else to wear because I haven’t had time to go shopping for nice clothes!” I replied, ranting like a lunatic.
“Well you never listen to me. You don’t believe anything I say. Nothing I say matters, does it?” Madelene asked.
I didn’t say anything in return; I went back in the bathroom to fix my hair a third time around. In my head, my partner was just trying to make me feel better about myself. She had to have noticed the extra ten pounds I put on, she couldn’t have missed the huge zit near my chin—which the cover-up couldn’t even hide, and she had to have seen the three grays that stuck out like a sore thumb. I looked hideous (in my eyes). Why would she even want to take me out the house looking like a sack of potatoes with an acne problem? My self-esteem had a lot to be desired. It still does. Why do we put ourselves through this constant self-torture of not loving ourselves? I think most people do this, and it’s sad, because why should we care about what other people think of us? Does it matter what I think of you? Does it matter what you think of me? Of course not. What matters is; what you think of yourself. When you ‘believe’ that you look good, your demeanor has this certain glow. People will pick this ‘good vibe’ signal up, and automatically flock to you.

Positive energy holds a certain power. People are drawn to other people who have positive attitudes, a fun-loving personality and a good sense of self-esteem. As humans, we all have our good days, as well as our bad days. When I’m feeling really crappy about myself, I tend to get a little introverted and shy. Sometimes, I become a royal b*tch, making you feel as though you’re the only reason for my madness. Self-esteem has a lot to do with how we treat other people around us. If someone doesn’t feel good about themselves, they’re certainly not going to try to make you feel good. Think about it.

I remember this girl Jamie in high-school. She was a funny girl who told a lot of jokes. She was different; she possessed features that weren’t the same as your average school girl. She had a few characteristics that made one think, “Hmm, was she born that way? Is something wrong with her?” Now I say this, because she did have deformities of certain degrees, which were from when she was a child. Jamie’s speech was a bit muffled, due to a problem with her mouth, so she talked differently. She was very short, a little heavy, and her facial features showed unique traits, but nobody could figure out what the problem was. She laughed and joked, while others were laughing right along with her. Her jokes mainly focused on ‘making fun of other people’.

I knew way back in high school that she *may be* gay, or had more attractions towards girls. She wore a lot of clothes that were from the 'boy's department' and had interests in boy-related activities... I even realized when she had a crush on one of our art teachers. She was obsessed with this woman. Never, did the word “gay” or “lesbian” spew out of her mouth, unless she was calling ‘you’ that out of anger. “Fricken dyke!” She would go on to say that about someone who wasn’t even gay! The day she found out I was gay, her first words were, “Ew.” Now, this girl had nothing to say “ew” about, because she wasn’t the prettiest flower in the garden, but people liked her because she made others laugh---but at ‘other people’s’ expense. All her jokes were of other people. She never had anything nice to say about others—she would just continue mocking them, so that all of her friends would laugh. This is how she gained friends, but in the end, she lost a lot of them too.

I’ll never forget the day she finally realized what other people really thought of her. I was six-teen years old, and I was at my boyfriend’s house. (Yes I dated boys back then) Jamie called us and asked what we were doing. I told her to come over and hang out with us. Now, my boyfriend and I were watching a video from a party we held the previous week before. We had no clue what was on this video tape. It was fun watching everyone having fun, some not realizing we were taping, and other people grabbing the camera to take videos of other people (which we were clueless about).

Jamie knocks on the door. She comes in, and we were sitting on the couch laughing at the video.
“Jamie! You gotta see this!” I said, chuckling at all the idiots drinking and falling all over one another.
“Ah ha ha ha, what a dork he is!” Jamie says, as she makes fun at some guy trying to slur his words into the camera.
The video then went fuzzy, and then returned with another clip. It wasn’t the party though. It was one of the football players in our school---he was one of the most popular guys, and every girl, including Jamie was in awe of him. The video showed him and another popular guy eating globs of peanut butter, so that when they went home, they wouldn’t smell like liquor when their parents interrogated them. The guy put so much peanut butter in his mouth, he started saying, “WooK! I’m Jamie! Go wout wit me puweeez Craig!”

As these two guys were laughing and making fun of Jamie, my heart sunk. I felt awful. I had no clue that this was going to be on the video. I couldn’t even look at Jamie’s face. I felt her pain so intensely, because it hurt me to see that she was watching this. I never, ever felt bad for Jamie, since she was full of criticism for others, but at that moment, my heart went out to her. I slowly looked over at Jamie, and her eyes were glassy, staring at the television. I didn’t say a word, because I was waiting for her to comment, or leave out of there crying. I didn’t want to ‘console’ her, because that’s just not what you would do for her. She didn’t need consoling, because she was 'tough'; she was the one who destroyed you with her words. I didn’t know how to approach her. I felt like hugging her---but then she would say, “Get off me- you dyke!”

“F*cking a-hole! He should talk! His nose is bigger than his d*ck!” She blurted out, and then started laughing. She lashed out by retaliating with words, instead of giving into her pain. Jamie’s self-defense mechanism kicked in, and she was back to being “Jamie”… But I wonder, if she went home crying that night. I still wonder, even though it’s fifteen years later. Does she keep that in her ‘bad memory’ file? I think everyone has a ‘bad memory’ file we store in our brains. We’re human, it’s only natural.

My point here is, she didn’t have enough self love, in order to make friends, by not making fun of other people. I felt so self-conscious around her, because I knew that at some point, I would be the brunt of her jokes at the lunch table. I probably already have been, and I just don’t know it. I now realize, being in my thirties, that some people criticize others, because they are not happy with themselves.

It’s sometimes hard for us to realize, that people aren’t noticing the flaws that only ‘we’ can see in ourselves. I’ll rant and rave over a zit that I discovered in the morning, when in fact, sometimes other people won’t even have a clue that it’s there. I still go through it. Sometimes I have ‘fat’ days, and other days, I’m the hottest thing going. (ha-ha) JOKE! You know what I mean though, we have our days where we feel so good about ourselves, and others, where we just want to stick our heads in the sand. Those days when you feel good about yourself, take notice of how many people will compliment you. For the days you feel bad about yourself, take notice how many times you criticize someone, or simply, go into a ‘bad mood’…

Judgment is only for God. Don’t worry about what others may think about you, worry about what God thinks of you, as well as what “you” think of yourself.

Are You Two Sisters?

Beyond numerous occasions, my partner and I have been asked if we were sisters. In my opinion, we don’t look anything alike, but in a way, I can see how they may come to that conclusion. We both have dark hair, dark eyes, wear similar clothes (wear each other’s clothes sometimes) and pretty much think alike most of the time. Being with the same woman for eleven years now, I guess I took on some of her traits, and she has taken on some of mine. (Sadly to say)

Madelene is one of a kind. She is absolutely heaven-sent in my eyes. She really helps me with a lot of things that I am clueless about. Even with my finances, I come to her, because she is the ‘brains’ of this relationship, where I am more into the practical, artistic way of looking at things. She is more ‘book smart’, and I am more ‘street smart’… We compliment one another very much. Her attitude is more reserved and conscientious, whereas I have an attitude of speaking my mind too freely sometimes, without reservations. We’re both very outgoing and extroverted, however our personalities differ in the aspect of, you would probably hear my laugh on the other side of the room; where as Madelene will talk to everyone and anyone, but with a more conservative touch.

It was a Monday morning, and Madelene and I went to the bank to deposit some money. There were a few checks from different sources, and my mind was frazzled a bit that day, so I asked her if she would come up and do the processing with the teller. I wasn’t feeling too well, had an awful headache, had my dark sunglasses on even while I was in the bank, and I remained quiet, as she proceeded with the transaction that was needed for my account.
“Well hello again, Debbie.” The teller says, as she darts her eyes back and forth between Madelene and me.
“Good morning, how are you?” I asked.
“Wonderful! Just wonderful! And who is this, doing your transactions for you?” She asked inquisitively.
“Oh, this is my partner Madelene.” I introduced them.
“Oh how nice, what type of business are you in?” She asks, thinking that “partner” meant, partner in a business.
“No no no, she is my life partner, my girlfriend…sorry for the misunderstanding.” I said, as I chuckled of how embarrassing that was, since I noticed the pretty teller next to her had just glanced over. Lovely. I’m outed at my bank now. I can see that my teller got a little red in the face after receiving this information.

I guess you can say it’s awkward when you get outed without expecting it. I tell, if asked. I am a bit uncomfortable holding hands with Madelene walking through Shoprite, but if it’s a gay-friendly atmosphere, I am thrilled to walk around having Madelene under my arm.

Another incident like this, was when I was getting the lasik surgery for my eyes to be corrected. I was excited that I would no longer have to wear contact lenses, or wear glasses anymore. This was a very big step for me to take, because I’m squeamish with things such as this. It took me a long time to even put a contact lens in my eye, no less having someone poke and prod my eyeball with a laser.

We went into TLC in White Plains to go ahead with this surgery. They had to do numerous testing before the actual procedure can take place. The doctor came in. It was a beautiful female doctor. I was pleasantly surprised to see a woman in this line of work. She informed me that my cornea was too thin to have this procedure be guaranteed a success. Great. My corneas are too thin, and my thighs are too fat. What next?

She explained to me that she performed surgery on Tiger Woods. He had the same vision as me---legally blind, and his corneas were way too thin as well. Now, he sees 20/20. She went on to explain that every case is different though. She wanted me to make a decision if I still wanted to go ahead with this, because the risks involved were serious. I can go blind---and if that happens, I would need a cornea transplant.

I sat there in the doctor’s office to think about this, and to talk it over with Madelene.
“Deb, this is a really dangerous thing, we can leave if you want to.” Madelene says in a reassuring way.
“No. I am so sick and tired of cleaning my contact lenses, making sure that I have them when I go on vacation or travel, I’m so sick and tired of waking up in the morning and not being able to see what time it is. I’m doing it.”

The lovely doctor walks back in with a questioning smile on her face, and asked,
“Have you made up your mind? Or do you need more time to think it through Debbie?”
“Let’s do this.” I said, with a frustrated tone.
“Okay, well first of all, since you are such a high risk candidate, you are going to have to sign a few forms for us.” She says as she hands me not just a few forms, triplicates upon triplicates! I signed all of them; knowing that they are not responsible for lawsuits if I do become blind, bumping into walls for the rest of my life. Great.

They rushed me off to the operating room which was across the hall from her little office. They had a television monitor for loved ones to watch the procedure take place.
“Madelene, can you watch the procedure for me—just in case.” I asked, for reasons of ‘feeling safer’. Don’t ask. I needed her to watch for some odd reason, as if she would know if they did something wrong!

There were literally eight girls in the operating room. I looked like I was going to get my hair and nails done, but no. They put ten million drops to numb my eyes, and magic markered my eyeballs!!! X marks the spot where they’re gonna cut! Oh lovely.
“Here, take this.” The doctor says, as she hands me a valium.
“Now we’re talking! Where’s my martini????” I asked, laughing out of nervousness.
She handed me a teddy bear to hold, in case I needed to squeeze something… They even gave me a blanket too, in case I got cold in the room. I felt like a three year old at this point.

“Okay, for ten seconds you will go blind---and then you'll regain your vision again.” They said to me, as it was no big deal.
“BLIND?” I ask.
“Blind, yes, for a short period of time so we can make the incision. You’ll be okay…I promise.”
“Ten….Nine….Eight….” They began to count down as my vision blurred, and the darkness had set in. I was officially blind for those ten seconds. My heart was racing. This valium was a sugar pill; I needed something much stronger at this point. I had no clue what they were doing, all I can see were lights; one bright white light, (no not the tunnel to heaven) and the red laser lights flickering.
“Wait, what’s that awful smoky smell? Something’s burning.” I said.
All the doctors laughed and chuckled when I said that.
“Deb, that’s your eyes being cut by the laser…it’s normal.”
“Ah, okay, great. Thanks for telling me that. You could have lied!” I said, hoping they were.

This process normally takes people about twenty seconds. It took them five minutes---way over the normal standard time to finish this process. It hurt- I don’t care what anyone says, “Oh you’ll be back to work the next day!” WRONG! It took me one week to recover and another two months to regain my 20/20 vision.

They lifted me up from the operating table, and continued to put those drops in my eyes. I saw fog and I saw images that were clear, however it looked like there was a huge cloud in the way. The surgery was officially done.

One of the nurse’s outside was hugging Madelene. I had no clue what was going on, but I can see from the big window, Madelene appeared as though she was crying. Did they give me valium or LSD???? The nurse came inside the operating room to talk to me.
“Your sister out there is crying, I had to console her. I think the surgery was a bit too much for her to watch.” She said to me through the thick fog.
“Oh, tell her I’m fine, but the only thing she has to worry about now is that I will finally see what she really looks like.” I reply.

They literally thought we were sisters this whole time. I come outside the operating room, and go over to Madelene. Sniffling and blowing her nose, I held her hand to make sure she was okay. She guided me back to the office to sit for a while.

“Why are you crying?” I asked.
“I saw them peel off the top layer of your eye to get to your cornea, and it hit me, those were your eyes, and I started crying hysterically.” She says, as she blows her nose from all her crying. The nurse comes back in to make sure I’m okay, and I thank her for being so gentle and considerate, as well as inform her about my beautiful girlfriend getting upset because of my procedure. It was at that moment I was not ashamed to say, “She’s my life partner.”

I believe when two people are together for a long period of time, the love matures in a way that is almost to the level as ‘family’. Assumptions made by others around us are only observations they see of how unconditional love can be. We share so much of each other, that we almost become as ‘one’, as a couple should be; yet we have our own identities. Madelene completes me, she balances me out, and we both understand our differences as well. Am I a pain in her in @ss? Sure. She wouldn't have me any other way...(unless Angelina Jolie crosses her path) Let's hope that doesn't happen!

As far as the laser eye surgery, I now see 20/20, and I am able to wake up, and see Madelene's beautiful face as clear as day. It was definitely worth the risk!

WARNING!!!

A deadly batch of heroin is to blame for the six deaths of people within five days in downtown Manhattan. This heroin that just came in is supposedly too pure, or has an additive substance to potentially kill.

Have we gone nuts people? My friend Lisa calls me up today.
“Deb, be careful, because there is a bad batch of heroin that is being distributed throughout Manhatten!” She says, as she laughs at how absurd that sounds, since I never do drugs.

It is devastating that those people were killed by this substance; however, heroin does not come with a Surgeon General’s warning. When you get caught up in this stuff, you are fully aware that this drug may kill you. Do people actually assume that taking heroin is safe? Isn’t it known that it’s a deadly drug? I’m confused. Please enlighten me here.

Ironically enough, I’m watching the news, and the anchorwoman comes on and says,
“Ibuprofen and other pain relievers other than aspirin can cause heart attacks. Up next, when we come back.”
So I waited. Either this segment was two seconds long, or they didn’t even feel the need to give us that warning; however, this ‘bad batch of heroin’ gets plastered all over the news, warning people not to take it. Haven’t they already been warned?

Please don’t get me wrong, I have sympathy for people who have this addiction, because it is the hardest addiction to recover from, but just because some major corporation asks the news not to ‘talk too much’ regarding this newfound warning on their product, they are hesitant to elaborate on why the pain reliever causes heart attacks. It’s all about money, isn’t it? Millions and millions of people take pain relievers such as ibuprofen, and naproxen sodium for headaches, back aches, and menstrual cramps. I have to take 800 mg of ibuprofen to get rid of my cramps, and they fail to elaborate about this heart attack warning?

Maybe if I get a ‘good batch’ of heroin, I can relieve my cramps, because I am reassured that the heroin will be good this time, since they keep such good monitoring on this stuff, rather to be concerned about pain killers that everyone and their mother takes.

Think about it!

If anyone has the news regarding pain relievers other than aspirin, causing heart attacks, please comment and fill me in on this. If you have an article about it, please post it in my comments.

Thanks!

The Beauty of a Man

“What?” You ask, as you gasp at my title. I had this thought today. I wonder, if a straight woman is curious about being with another woman, then she is called, “bi-curious”, right? What if a lesbian is curious about being with a man? Is she called “bi-curious” too? There are so many labels that people tag on to individuals with different tastes, different views and preferences in the gender of their partner(s). I dislike labeling anyone, including myself. Yes, I have been with my partner for eleven years, however, my thoughts are, I fall in love with ‘the person inside’---not gender per se. I do tend to fall for women more so, but who’s to say if I were single, and some man were to steal my heart away? You just never know. Some straight women don’t even realize that they are gay, until they are well into their forties or fifties, and leave their husband for another woman, who they fell in love with unexpectedly. How do you explain that?

“I never knew I was gay, until I met her.” I have heard this time and time again. In my beliefs, I do feel that two people who connect emotionally and spiritually will tune in to one another, leaving a gray area for ‘love’ to happen. It’s up to those two people if they want to pursue it further.

“Okay Deb, where you going with this?” I hear my friends yelling at me through this post. Shush. Listen. Be open.

The other day, I decided that I was going to run a few miles on my treadmill downstairs. I had the windows open for air, and the shades up so I can see the outside. It was a beautiful day, I should have been outside running, but the neighbors vicious dogs sometimes strays our roads, so I have a little concern there... Listening to my I-Pod, getting a good pace up, I realize that my nose is itching. I start sniffling and then began to sneeze a few times. It was at that moment that I smelled freshly cut grass. I love that smell, but it doesn’t agree with my allergies. I kept on running and didn’t think about it. Then I started to hear engines of some sort. Oh! My landscapers are here! Totally forgot that today was the day they cut the grass.

Now here’s the deal. There are about five guys who work on my yard. Most of them work with either a guinea tee, or just no shirt at all. The last few times while I was sitting in my office, I caught myself staring at one of the landscapers as he was working. He was well built, beautiful skin that glowed, and he had very dark skin—yet you can see that his tattoos were visible on his upper arm. I believe it was a vine that wrapped around his huge arm. I don’t know why I was staring at him so long, since I’m a lesbian, so I shook it off and just started working again. Fine. Done. I was probably just in a daze.

Back to the treadmill. Windows open, freshly cut grass irritating the hell out of me, I see “him”. He is right outside my window. Oh my God! He can see me. I can see him. We actually caught each other’s eyes. GASP! Keep running, keep running, don’t look, don’t look… He was weed wacking near the side of the window where I was at. I saw him up close and personal. Wow! This man is absolutely a work of art. His sculpted physique that glistened in the sun had me mesmerized. Each ripple on his six-pack abs were just amazing; as if some artist sculpted him. We caught eyes again. He waves…I wave back. Oh God what did I do? Forget it, he’s the landscaper, so he’s just saying hi because he works for us. Whatever. Wow look at those back muscles!

Today was a new day. I went to the gym to get a different atmosphere, and to also get a good work out. I grab my water at the counter and head for the stairmaster. Now, the stairmaster is placed right in the front, near the juice bar and membership/sales center. You can see everyone who walks in and walks out. Great for 'people watching'. I’m also near a huge window as well, so I keep busy watching shoppers pass by, people are smoking on the sidewalk, and other people are walking inside the gym. One person walking inside looked familiar. It was him! My landscaper! What? He works out here? Don’t look, don’t look, keep stepping, keep stepping….

I slowly look back up, and I see him going behind the counter, as if he was an employee there. Oh come on! He works here? He looked beautiful as ever, although he was wearing a nice short sleeved shirt. I could still see all the muscles that were protruding out. Our eyes didn’t meet, because I was too scared to look over.

After my work out, I headed into the bathroom to clean up. I couldn’t believe that my landscaper who I was apparently checking out was an employee at my gym. I walked outside the bathroom, to the counter to grab my keys that were swimming with everyone else’s keys and I heard someone say, “Hey.” It was him, my landscaper.
“Hi!" I said back.
“You’re non-stop with the cardio, huh?” He asks me.
“I’m trying! I thought you looked familiar! It’s nice seeing you! Didn't know you worked here.” I said, trying to end this conversation that can lead absolutely NOWHERE…
"I only work on Thursdays and the weekends here..." He replies.
“Enjoy your day, I’ll see you around then.” I said, as I was making my way quickly to the door as if I had an emergency.
“Okay, bye! See you soon!” He says, with this big smile—and these big white beautiful teeth.

Not only was he beautiful, he seemed as though he had a very warm personality; although I didn’t get to talk to him long enough. I just felt warm vibes…

My point of this is, that some people seem to limit themselves on what they think is ‘beautiful’. Just because one girl is straight, doesn’t mean she cannot find another woman attractive, and just because a lesbian found a man attractive, does not mean she is hopping the fence to become a heterosexual. And in some cases, some people do hop over the fence, due to an attraction to a gender they had no clue they were interested in.

And no, you can’t have the number for my landscapers.

Passion in Life

Did you ever have a day, where you’re listening to someone speak, or hear someone else talk, and you say to yourself, “Wow, I really needed to hear that message today?” Well today was one of those days; a self discovery in which I found in the words of one woman, who has made her life and her art—her passion. Rachel, a woman I help out at a gallery nearby, is a huge inspiration to me. Not only has she overcome certain goals in her life that I can only dream of, but she showed me that if you have the mindset to do something, anything is possible.

Rachel works practically 24/7 in her gallery, from paintings, to sculptures, from jewelry, to organizing art shows. It is never a dull moment in her world. There is not a day she takes off. I asked her today, “Rachel, aren’t you tired? You work till 2am sometimes, and then you wake up early to get up, and do it all over again.”
“Debbie!” She says, with her eyes lightened up. “This is not work! This is my passion! My love; this is me! Everywhere you look is an expression of who I am. When you love to do something, it is definitely not considered work. People go on vacation, so they don’t have to work. I don’t have to go on vacation, because I love it here! This is my home, my gallery, and my life—which I love!”
I was awed by her enthusiasm. I was shocked that I heard these words come out of someone’s mouth. I was thrilled, because she was inspiring me.

Today I had to make a big decision. I was offered to publish my book with Amazon. The one thing that irked me a tad was that I had to invest a little money into it. My thinking was, “Well why should I invest, when it’s “my” book to sell?” Ideally, yes...but it has been quite the struggle finding the right publisher and venue to market my book. Amazon offers me a deal where every book that gets sold, I receive 70%. I explained my situation to Rachel, and she said something very profound. She explained that with anything you love to do, with any business, with anything you want to make money from, you have to invest a little to get a lot. The investment is a small step to where you want to be. Once you know you are ready to move up to that step, you make that conscious decision to pursue it further. Anything sold in an artistic form has a lot of work to go behind it—as with anything. For artists, it is a little more challenging due to the demand in what you are trying to sell. You are basically ‘selling yourself’ so to speak. This is an expression of “you”.

My true passion in life is writing, art, and music. I started working on my third book, and I sometimes spend hours upon hours without even realizing the time that has passed. Even while I play guitar and write music, hours can go by without me realizing it. This is the same for Rachel. Her work is done at 2am a lot of the times, but she doesn’t even realize how many hours pass, because of her love for it all.

I made the decision based on her talk with me. I am investing in my book. Hopefully a good outcome will result.

Rachel was also explaining how people these days are brought up to ‘get a job, go to school, and eat fast food’ etc. Nothing was really ever said about following your passion in life. It seems to be a trend where people starve for instant gratification, not realizing their needs for the big picture, as well as our future. We can get a quick fix from alcohol, food, drugs, sex, and smoking; however, how long do any of those last for? The effects and good feelings we get from those wear off rather quickly. Even to make a quick dollar has become more popular today, oppose from doing something you love & getting paid for it. We need to do something for 'us' that will last much longer, not just for a moment; something that will enable us to give us a lifetime of satisfaction...

What truly makes you tick? Do you count the hours when you are at work, wishing it was quitting time? I know I used to, until I got fed up with it. I always felt guilty for doing something I loved, and with her being so positive about the arts, I see things in a new light again.

I just want to thank Rachel for all her encouraging words today. It’s rare these days to find someone who truly believes in what they do for a living; to make her work---an image of herself. Not only has she molded herself into her art, but she has become vulnerable to opening herself up in the form of expression, by her creative work.

I really believe that sometimes God puts people in our lives, so that we can lean towards a certain path in our life---to make big or small decisions. Today God has done that very thing, and I am grateful.

Always be conscious and aware of what people tell you. It may be God’s way of trying to get a message across. God works in mysterious ways, and He communicates with us in various forms. Be alert!

What’s your passion in life?

I Need Health Advice!

This morning I get my mail, and I received my blood results from a physical I got from the doctor. (Refer to “What’s Up Doc” post) Turns out, everything is fine. Clean bill of health, with the exception that my cholesterol level is “mildly elevated”…222.
“222?????" I said out loud. That's not mildly elevated to me!

Now, if you know me personally, you know my diet is #1. meager, #2. full of vegetables, fish, chicken, and tons of salads. Where am I going wrong here folks? Of course, on the weekend I will have that occasional steak or burger, but once a week. At the age of thirty-one, my cholesterol is rising and so is my weight. This scares me. I was actually hoping it was a thyroid problem. Quick fix, right? Take pills, lose weight and tone down the LDL (bad cholesterol).

I went online, and this is what it said:

Tips for a heart-healthy diet

*Eat less fat (especially butter, coconut and palm oil, saturated or hydrogenated vegetable fats such as Crisco, animal fats in meats and fats in dairy products).
First of all, I never use butter, never use any sort of oil except for olive oil, and I use Pam cooking spray if I make something on a pan.

*Use nonstick vegetable oil cooking sprays instead of oils.
Done. Did that.

*Buy lean cuts of meat, and eat fish, skinless chicken and turkey instead of beef.
Super! What next? This is something I have been doing all along!

*Try low-fat snacks that have been baked instead of fried, such as pretzels.
Low fat snacks to me, are carrots, grapes and yogurts. I do that all the time.

*Choose low-fat dairy products, such as skim milk, and low-fat cheese, yogurt and margarine. Done. Nothing I haven’t been doing for years.

*Try to limit how many sweets you eat.
Hmm…okay, well on the weekend I will grab one of this Dixie cup ice-creams (those small baby cups) so I can limit my intake. I don’t want to deprive myself, but come on!

*Eat no more than 4 egg yolks a week (use egg whites oregg substitutes).
I eat egg whites if anything…one full egg per week.

*Bake, broil, steam or grill foods instead of frying them.I never fry.
Eat fewer "fast foods" (burgers, fried foods), which are high in fat. Instead, eat more fruits, vegetables and carbohydrates (rice, pasta, breads, grains).
Never do I eat fast foods, it makes me sick. Rice, pasta, breads, grains, I’ve been told to stay away from carbs, but I do occasionally have my pasta. Grains, forget it- I am an oatmeal fanatic.

*Drink low-calorie beverages, such as unsweetened tea or diet soda pop.
I drink coffee—no sugar or cream. No soda, just water and Gatorade.

Where am I going wrong here??? If it has anything to do with having a few beers or wine on the weekend, then just shoot me please. Millions of people are able to go on drinking beer, drinking wine, and maintaining a healthy lifestyle. (all in moderation of courses)

Another thing that really bugs me, is that I run/jog 3-4 miles per day, and do weights for one hour at the gym, and at my home. Even when I’m on the stairmaster, I’m on there for one full hour sweating my butt off. I drink more than eight glasses of water per day and make sure that I take my vitamins.

Any advice you can give me, I’d appreciate it greatly. I need help here people!

Vacation

Shut your overhead light, lock your cabinets, and don’t forget to have your “I’m on vacation” automated email response ready when you run like a bat out of hell from your job. It’s vacation time. You have anticipated this vacation all year, this is your time to relax, and do whatever it is you want. You and your partner have picked a beautiful place to stay, you dream of the sites, the dining ventures and of course the daily activities.

If this is your first trip with your partner, this can either make, or break the relationship. Vacations are tricky. A lot of things can go wrong. I remember when I first started dating Madelene, we planned our very first trip to Provincetown, MA. I booked us a room at this really nice bed and breakfast. Online, this place looked magnificent! We were all excited and ready to go. As we pulled up to the B&B, there was hardly any parking---due to the lack of driveway they had. We practically parked the car on the owner’s flowerbed! We walked in at first to sign in. The place was cute, quaint, but definitely not what I saw on the internet virtual tour. They made it out to be some lavish and fancy B&B-- not only that, they made it out to be this huge mansion type of place. Misleading.

“You’ll be staying at the ‘Mia Angelou’ room.” The keeper said, as she handed us the key.
“Great…they themed this with poetry… how lovely.” I mumbled sarcastically and just chuckled. We start unloading the truck, and headed for our room. Jiggling the key each and every way to get this damn door open, it finally comes ajar. The room was dark still, so I felt for a light. Before I could even turn a light on, I tripped over the bed.
“What the @*&%????” I was furious that the room was smaller than a box of tissues.
“This is NOT what they displayed online, let me tell you!” I ranted, as I made my way to the bathroom.
“Look! The fricken bathroom is larger than the bedroom! That’s ridiculous.” On and on I kept on bitching like a big baby.
“Oh, well I think it’s charming.” Madelene replies, content in her settings.
“Well, we better me out a lot, or this is just not going to work. I can’t believe we paid so much for this dump!”
“Deb, they have a personalized hot tub for each room outside the courtyard.” Madelene says, to try and relieve my anger at this point.

To me, my ‘base’ of where I am staying has to be nicer than anything that the town has to offer. I want my vacation home—if you will---to exceed my expectations of anything that this whole vacation can offer me. Madelene on the other hand is content anywhere, as long as we go out and do a lot of activities and have fun. Fine. Let’s have fun. What about when you get home? I felt icky and I didn’t want to be in that small room- I was getting claustrophobic.

Needless to say, the whole vacation was bickering over this awful room. We even saw a receipt for whips and chains and other ‘interesting’ devices that some other couple had purchased in the dresser drawer while staying in the ~Mia Angelou~ room. Ew. Better believe I checked the sheets and bedding for anything other than clean bleached sheets that smelled like daisies. That alone, made me think even more. Luckily this town was full of a lot of things to do, art galleries, museums, all different types of restaurants, different events and the beach. It was the 4th of July, so anywhere you went, had a party—but now it was a matter of going back to your room, which I dreaded.

Now I reserve a suite, one year in advanced at this huge Inn that we love very much. This place has its own bistro, a spa where you can get your hair done, get a manicure or pedicure, sit in their hot tubs, (instead of the one they provide you with in your room) and they even have a cocktail lounge now. The suite is large, has its own kitchen, dining room, living room, and a separate bedroom—plus they have dry cleaning right on the premises… I can just stay at the place the whole day if I wanted to. They serve gourmet breakfasts, whether you want it taken to your suite, or just eat it out on the enclosed patio dining room with the other guests. This place is amazing; in fact, I want to even suggest it to you all if you ever decide to go to Provincetown.

http://www.crownepointe.com/ * * * * *

A while back, when Madelene and I were having a few problems, we decided to still go on vacation in Montauk, where we stay each year in May. Again, I thought, this will either make or break our relationship. Surprisingly enough, the alone time at the beach house was what we needed. We ended up having the best time, because we were out of our elements, and there was no one to disturb us, no phones ringing, no work that needed tending to, just her and I enjoying the ocean. It was extremely theraputic for both of us, and enchanced our relationship that much more.

Tip: Throw away your damn cell phones, do not check messages, do not check e-mail and never, ever call your job to check what’s going on.

A vacation means, “to get away”. It does not entail going to a place that will cause you stress or cause anxiety. You are supposed to enjoy your time away, as well as your time together, and not worry about any of your surroundings. If your surroundings are something to be of concern with, then it’s just not going to be a vacation for you. In fact, you may just end up single after it- who knows... A vacation is a crucial part of your health—no matter where it is, however, make sure that you are completely away from whatever it is that stresses you out the most.

Bon Voyage!

The Emotional Rollercoaster

I think it’s safe to say that we have all experienced emotional individuals that tend to lean more on the issue-problematic side that tend to scare us off a little. Everyone has their own issues and skeletons in their closets, and meds in their drawers, but what I am referring to are the woman who get caught up in the ‘emotional rollercoaster’ of a relationship or friendship. It’s a true fact that women hold much more emotional issues than men do—due to their high levels of estrogen. Some women even carry more of this hormone making them extremely sensitive to matters of the heart. I guess that is why some people think men don’t have feelings---this is not true, it’s the way they handle their issues. Men work and think very differently thank women do; because of their hormonal differences; just grab a cold beer and tune her out! (Sounds much better the way men can handle certain situations, huh?)

There are women out there that have more testosterone levels in their system making them less emotional due to the lack of estrogen—also leaving them to possibly have hair on their chest or a few whiskers on their chin…hmm... It depends on each individual. In my lifetime I have come across women who basically frightened me with their up and down moods. I have encountered manic depressives, bi-polar to even extreme cases of emotional problems. Sometimes it can be very frightening when it comes to an argument. I came to a point where I had to be insensitive to my ex-girlfriend’s manipulating ways of trying to get me to understand her. She would not hear my side of how I felt; the only thing that was important was the way she felt. She felt that her feelings were more valid than mine due to her crying episodes---and the lack of emotional signs on my end. (Grabbing a beer and tuning her out…) Believe me, I am very emotional and I have feelings, but in the midst of arguing with my partner, I try to be more reasonable and resolve what the conflict is. (By grabbing a beer and tuning her out.) My downfall is my temper. I tend to get so frustrated that I will say hurtful things in order to shut the other person up from her tantrums. I may even throw a few things around, (but never my beer) however, I never physically abused my ex or my current partner.

One of the biggest signs to look for emotional unstableness is when someone is crying to you about something that she truly feels deeply about, and then the next minute she is laughing, giggling and all happy out of the blue. Sudden mood changes can be alarming if the other person doesn’t know what’s going on. Being educated on how people behave and different emotional disorders is a *must* when dating other women. Two women being together as an intimate relationship can be a huge emotional rollercoaster. Usually one is more emotional than the other, and the other distances themselves from her partner appearing as if they were ‘cold’ or ‘insensitive’. This may leave the other person in a depression thinking they are going to lose their partner.

It’s ironic that many lesbians use the word ‘drama’. Of course that word is going to be the word of the community. Why wouldn’t it be? There is tons of drama in the lesbian community due to emotional issues. Straight people have ‘drama’ as well---don’t get me wrong, but think about two women being together in an intimate relationship—all those feelings; love, depression, jealousy, resentment, lack of trust and past issues all rise up to the surface and bubble up so that their partner can now see the ‘true identity’ of their partner. Now the question is, now that you have seen this side of your partner, do you continue to pursue a long-term relationship with her; or do you try and resolve whatever problems arise? What if two women in the relationship are similar; both having emotional break down one after the other? Time to call the guys with the white coats! This makes for an unhealthy relationship (and lots of medication!) Is it safe to say that these two women will have more problems in the future if they don’t seek professional help together? Professional psychotherapy alone is a good idea as well if you are dealing with emotional issues or if just your partner is overemotional. Regardless, professional help is needed in these types of circumstances.

There was a time when I was trying to go to sleep, and my ex-girlfriend was lying down next to me. We didn’t fight that evening nor did we argue or disagree about anything. I went to sleep without knowing anything was bothering her. An hour or so later, I hear her sniffling. “Oh Lord!” I thought to myself. She was lying down next to me crying hysterically. I honestly didn’t know how to handle this. I rubbed her shoulder and asked her what was wrong and she basically nudged me off and said, “Nothing! Nothing’s wrong! Don’t even bother!”
At this point, after a few of these episodes, I was a bit perturbed and I wasn’t feeling any sympathy over this due to her lashing out at me. I rolled over and went to sleep--or tried to. The next morning she had a puss on her face, smoking one cigarette after the other, and being extremely silent with me. I made coffee and told her to sit outside with me to have breakfast so we could talk. We sat their in complete silence on this beautiful Sunday morning. I tried talking to her, but the only thing I got out of her was ‘one worded responses.’ I finally gave up and ignored her. I would have grabbed a beer, but it was too early… Her communication had a lot to be desired at this point, and I withdrew from her. I kept myself distant because I couldn’t handle her unstable personality.

Was it me that she was unhappy with? Did I do something to hurt her? Was I being insensitive to an issue that she was dealing with? Did she think I was flirting with someone? What was the problem? I had all these questions in my mind leaving me to be very insecure about my relationship and how ‘stable’ she and I were. I was scared so I pushed her away and didn’t talk to her for one week. Yes, this is another unhealthy way to deal with issues in a relationship, but I was hurt because I felt insecure of her love at this point. I honestly felt she did not love me and that she resented the fact that she was ‘stuck’ with me. In my heart, I could only imagine what was bothering her, what was going on in her head, why we were so bad at communicating.

We spoke a few days later and she told me that she was very upset due to the fact that her cat was sick. She had been stressing over her cat for a bit because she brought her to the vet and they told her that her cat needed to be on medication and that she was getting a bit old—so it was a big concern. Having not known this on my end, I felt a bit angry that she couldn’t tell me this herself. Why was it so hard to tell me, “Hey, I’m really stressing over my cat being sick and it hurts me to see her like that…?” Why couldn’t she come to me as if I was her best friend? She no longer considered me her ‘best friend’ anymore; she now considered me her partner who was only good for intimacy and sexual encounters. I wasn’t good enough to talk to as a friend (in my mind at that time) This hurt me terribly because now not only have I lost my best friend, but I felt as though I was losing her totally. Of course there were a lot of other hidden issues that were underlying why she wasn’t able to communicate with me, but the emotional unstableness of the way she handled things hurt me deeply. I was the blame for everything in her eyes; I was the one who ‘hurt her’ in her eyes; I was the bad ‘guy’ of course.

I wonder how many stories have been told that I was the seed that went bad in the relationship. Everyone has their own side to their stories of course, but sometimes it’s sad to see when someone you truly loved and cared for hurts you deeply like that; doesn’t want to communicate with you any longer on a friendship level—which is essential in any intimate relationship. Trust and communication had been thrown out the door and anger and resentment had taken its place. It was time to make a decision at that point. Sadly enough, I had to end it with her, and end our friendship as well during that time. This hurt me, as well as her. I tried communicating with her months after the relationship had ended to see if a friendship could still be mended, but she chose not to ever talk to me again, leaving me to now think that we’ll never cross paths again and say, “Hello” civilly. I always forgave her, but it was difficult to forget some things I must admit. I was willing to take her back into my life as a friend and work on things—but I know that would have been a bad idea. I didn’t want to go around the same mountain again facing the same problems as we did before.

When emotions get stored up in your heart and you let it fester, not only will it come pouring out, but it will pour out on your loved one leaving them hurt and feeling insecure about the relationship with you. It’s scary when one party of the relationship doesn’t have a clue what is going on with their partner emotionally. You can try to help all you want; try to be the most understanding person, but the truth is-- they have to work it out on their own. It may have nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with how they are feeling and it is up to them whether they choose to share what’s bothering them, it’s their decision to communicate with you. Or you can just throw them into a mental institution! I sometimes tried to force her to talk to me; to explain her feelings of depression and tried to help her. I’m not a professional psychiatrist; I only have my own opinions, so in reality, I wouldn’t have been a great source of help. She finally did get help, but at this point it was too late. Our relationship had ended, and we both went our separate ways. Till this day, I still pray for her and wish her well.

Two Stones Thrown at the Mocking Bird

Are we prisoners of our own insecurities? Sometimes I’m faced with that dilemma myself. I take things too seriously; I get offended quickly, or take things out of context---which never were applied to me in the first place. It’s as almost being paranoid in a sense. Each word sounds as if it’s an attack on you. I guess we need to discern from what is a personal attack, to what’s just being said in general. I think I learned a lot on both ends of the spectrum. I have offended people without realizing it, and I have taken offense to people (friends) who said things that weren’t meant to be in a derogatory manner.

I believe each person has their own insecurities; one differing from the next. Is it a matter of being more sensitive to other people’s feelings? Or is it just merely not being susceptible to other people’s criticisms, and/or opinions? They may just be ‘speaking their mind’ and expressing their thoughts in a unique approach. It can sometimes be hard to read a person when they seem to be telling you something that you feel is negative. We have to read between the lines. I have learned this the hard way, and have been reminded numerous times, that it wasn’t to be taken offensively. God forbid you get me while I’m PMSing and I take something out of context. You are Satan himself! (In my eyes) I will lash out like a wildcat. Other times, I will truly understand where you are coming from, and react in a humane way. Tricky, huh? I think a lot of people are like that though.

What about e-mail? How many people take ‘text’-----out of context? The tone in your voice in person, can determine if you are upset, angry, sarcastic or happy. In e-mail, the other person has to guess the attitude that is being displayed on his/her screen. It’s very difficult sometimes, and a lot of people brew up arguments due to a conversation that went bad through e-mail. We have to especially be careful in e-mail and written words when we speak. I say this, because I have been mistaken for someone of a negative nature online, when I wanted to come across ‘sarcastic’. Some people didn’t take it that way and basically took offense to the extreme. With that, I do apologize. Words are powerful, and yes, they need to be distributed wisely.

A great proverb that I read this morning:

“Mockers can get a whole town agitated, but those who are wise will calm anger.”~Proverbs 29:8

In an e-mail I sent to one of the lesbian organizations, I came off as ‘mocking’ them, and I can definitely see how they did take it as such. I wanted the group to be a little more ‘light hearted’ and not take themselves too seriously. It’s a very ~official~ club, that these ladies take very seriously, so by my sarcasm, I got myself in heaps of trouble. When I explained myself to the main person who took offense, we ended up talking on a friendly basis, and even spoke over the phone. Turns out, we have a lot in common and we happen to think a lot alike. Enemies through e-mail, to friends over the phone. It’s the tone, the way you speak, the delivery of your message can either build or tear down whatever you are trying to get across.

And yes---Funky Beatz---you are right…in fact, you basically quoted a proverb….

“Those who love to talk will experience the consequences, for the tongue can kill or nourish life.” ~Proverbs 18:21

The e-mail that I sent out to the group, I was under the influence of alcohol, and poked fun at what this group was trying to accomplish. I was reminded of this proverb:

“Wine produces mockers; liquor leads to brawls. Whoever is led astray by drink cannot be wise.” ~Proverbs 20:1

My apologies!...

My Bartender, My Therapist...We'll Miss You

For those who think I’m this huge alcoholic------here’s a post-- just for my favorite bartender…

“Don’t drink that crap! It’ll kill ya!” Carla, the bartender screams across the bar, as she takes away your coffee, knowing you have a hangover, and replaces it with a bloody mary. Rambunctious, unruly, and boisterous---Carla was good at her job. I never ran out of beer sitting at her bar, nor did I ever go in there ordering coffee when she was tending. It was unheard of. We were there for spirits and a good time. Her loud cheerful voice echoed throughout the bar, as well as the restaurant. She was a force to be reckoned with. Her opinions were strong, crass and unpredictable, and so were her drinks.

It was Carla’s last day at work. She is moving to Texas. Of course, there are wonderful bartenders at the Barnsider, but Carla will definitely be missed. She was quick-witted and knew how to approach difficult people. On her toes and ready to go, she always remembered everyone’s drink—if they were a customer more than once. She was always good that way. Her laugh was contagious and so were her drink mixes.

Her last evening at work, all friends and old customers gathered around to celebrate her final evening. She had customers from big-wig stuffed shirts, to mechanics that just got off from work, from artists, painters, sculptors and craft people who worked in that village, to cowboys wearing shorts--with just a pair of cowboy boots. Her clientele ranged from straight, gay, a-sexual to deep southern folk who recently moved up to upstate, New York as well as hippies in costume that made it up from the Renaissance Festival. She managed to bring in the best of all worlds.

We wish you the best, Carla, and hope to see you again! Go get’em cowgirl!

Are You Hiding?

It seems as though many people build a wall around their hearts. They hide- so to speak. For many reasons, people do not want to become vulnerable, opening them up to ‘hurt’ and ‘pain’. There is a risk when you become close with someone—there’s always a risk. If we don’t take risk, we will never know what true happiness is.

I was reading this article in “The Word for You Today”—a magazine we get from a church, and it triggered something within me to post this on my blog. Let me know what you think…and how you may relate to this.

“Are You Hiding?”
When you don’t feel good about who you are a as person, you’ll use work, food, relationships, money and alcohol to build a wall to keep people from getting too close. Lasting relationships are only built when you stop hiding and are willing to become transparent. Another alternative is to keep the focus on others by asking, “How come she got a new house and I didn’t? Or, “Why did he get that job and not me?” That kind of thinking just causes resentment and makes you miserable.

But even worse than pretending with people, is pretending with God. In the Garden when God asked Adam, “Why are you hiding?” He already knew the answer. Nobody and nothing can hide from Him! But he wanted Adam to admit where he was and what he’d become. Why? Because until you face the truth about yourself, confess it and seek God’s forgiveness you’ll:
a.) find it hard to talk to God
b.) feel lonely and alienated
c.) struggle to look people in the eye in case they see the real you.

I totally believe in open communication, whether it is someone close to me, or someone I never met before. I speak my mind, and sometimes not everyone will agree with me. I don’t want to be one of those people that agree with everyone. That would be a boring world, wouldn’t it? We have our own minds, our own hearts, and our own way of speaking out—which makes us individuals. Communication is wonderful, not only for speaking our minds to our friends and family, but most of all, having a trusting and loving relationship with your partner. Being vulnerable and transparent to our partners is a crucial part of any successful relationship. "HIDING" anything from our partners only destroys any foundation you built with them. That goes along with trust---if the trust is not there, it'll eventually fail.

Now here's where hiding can be of some good...

I really feel that sometimes the gay and lesbian community will hide behind this wall, resenting people who have this, or have that… In the previous post, it was referenced by a woman who e-mailed me that we as lesbians have a harder time getting employed. We do? I haven’t noticed this. An employer doesn’t go by what sexual preference you are---and it shouldn’t be ‘known’ as soon as you walk into their office for that interview. Private lives should be kept ‘private’ in this particular case. Making it other people’s business is where they go wrong--business-wise. I have seen cases where some gay and lesbians were discriminated against due to their sexual preference…but again I will say this, it should not be anyone’s business at the work place who you have sex with, or what type of gender you prefer.

I understand that some gays and lesbians are proud of who they are, but you don’t see straight people prancing around telling everyone about their sexual preference. Well, maybe a few, but in any case, gay or straight---do you think we really need to blurt out our personal lives? What goes on behind closed doors should remain there.

What do you think?

We're Not Just Lesbians

"We're not just lesbians." She says to me, in an angry tone.

A little note to express my feelings for another fellow lesbian in my community…

Sometime I feel at a loss for my own community. If being a lesbian isn’t hard enough, it’s dealing with angry lesbians who have this mission or agenda to travel in packs who want to rule the world. Is being a lesbian hard at all? So many lesbians that I come across are angry, upset and they have this constant feeling of resentment towards anyone who doesn’t agree with their line of thinking.

There is this newly formed “lesbian’s group” in my town. They have formed in herds. I was initiated a member, by a friend. I go on the website and respond to certain things they bring to the table, and I speak my mind. I guess these women are overly sensitive, because I got some hate mail. These women want acceptance from others out there, but they are not willing to accept people with different points of views. I don’t understand that.

So this morning, I grab my coffee, go in my office and check my e-mail. I get an e-mail from an angry lesbian who didn’t agree with my suggestion. They had a group a while back that failed, and it was held in this little dinky bar in a quiet village. Basically—a dive. The group was discussing the options of having ‘fees’ to be in their cult. First of all, I’m against it period. I e-mailed them and suggested that we should all meet up to see a friend of mine (who is a fellow lesbian) play guitar and sing at a local bar nearby. We can all spring for our own beer, and not pay fees to socialize, as well as support one of our members of the community--- by just going to see her perform. One of the girls said this:

“You state that you are sick and tired of having to walk into dives to meet other lesbians (again, we are not just lesbians), but then you invite us to see Alyssa play in just such a dive. “

(Not just lesbians?) I’m certainly not going to sit around in a circle passing around a drum having a huge pity party for myself.

She then goes on to say:

“All of your suggestions involve bars and alcohol. Charming. Let's please keep that old stereotype going. NOT. There are many members of the GLBT community that are in recovery. We have a higher rate of addiction than any other "group" because of the lives we are sometimes forced to lead in secrecy and shame and fear, because we have been ostracized from our families and friends, from our community. Listen, I'm not trying to preach...I've done my share of partying and held my own with the best of them. There is a place for everything, but with moderation and sensitivity. OK?”

I’m going to certainly need a drink if this is the type of people I’m meeting up with. For the love of God! Lighten up! Yes, I can see if people are in recovery, that’s great. They are getting help. Usually when you are out socializing, you go out to dinner or to an establishment where you can see your fellow lesbian friend on stage playing guitar and singing. Support your local lesbian friend—right? Oh wait, there’s alcohol served at this place. So insensitive I can be.

Again, I have to keep in mind, “They’re not “just” lesbians…they’re a cult.”

Of course we have a higher rate of addiction---because there is absolutely nothing to do around these rural parts other than make moonshine and yell across the trailer parks to see what lesbian event is being held next. We are forced to live in secrecy and shame, AND fear? Why? Maybe you are, but I have no problem going out and mingling with everyone----straight, gay, lesbian, transgender, ---whoever… Lesbians are the most uptight group sometimes. Shame? I’m sometimes a shamed to even be a lesbian due to the attitudes of the angry ones. I think I can speak for many people a far as being ostracized from our families and friends --- blah blah blah, get over it--- stop feeling sorry for yourself and get a life! We ALL have problems, not just lesbians. Oh wait, I said it---“Just Lesbians”… I’m going to title this post just that!

“We need to arrange events that are accessible to all our members, not just a few. For example: I sat next to a couple with a 5 month old on their lap, wanting to give their child a different view of our community other than the old stereotype of bars, drunks & drugs, and meet other families that care about our lives and our politics and our survival in this frightening right-wing era. I recently had 2 small children ripped from my home because the judge thought they would be better off with their drunk, addicted, violent father than with 2 lesbians after 4 years of raising them. There is much more to this group than the question of where to "party". Socialization is definitely an important part, but not our only purpose. Do you watch the news? We are fighting for our lives, for our right to exist, for our right to have families, to work, to marry, to be employed without restrictions. We are being bashed, harassed and murdered. Hello? Let's party......ok.”

I guess she came to the ‘wrong lesbian’ with this issue as far as the ‘right-wing’ remark. Being mostly a right winger, I have opposing views. Now, I do feel sorry for anyone who has their children taken from them. I highly doubt that a judge would give her two small children to a man who is an alcoholic, drug addict and who’s violent. My view on this is- there are two sides to any story. Straight people go through the same thing---what makes this woman think she is so different? I know a lesbian couple who have a son living with them, and not the father. Just because she is a lesbian---she uses the ‘lesbian card’. It happens to all of us unfortunately. Maybe—and this is just a hypothetical scenario here- maybe the husband can provide a better home, from what the judge can see. I don’t know that. I cannot judge. All I can say is, everyone has problems; are they all flocking out in herds to sit in a round circle discussing issues? Get a therapist!

Yes, I do watch the news. I see straight girls raped, murdered, I see gangs killing their own people, I see robbers shooting store owners and kids being kidnapped and killed. The news is very depressing; the world is depressing. Live your life, and try to make it better. Do we have to sit around and bitch & moan about our lives to everyone else? It sounds so negative. When has socializing become a bad thing in life? You make it seem as though your life is over, and that socializing only means drugs and alcohol.

Let me get my little violin out for you- and wish you well.

See, it’s not that I am insensitive to the struggles of the gay and lesbian community, it’s just that I am sensitive to what everybody goes through. We all have issues in life that we suffer and struggle with. What makes this woman think that her community is the ONLY group that goes through this? “We’re not just lesbians.” You’re pity party participator...

“To work and be employed without restrictions?” What kind of place are you trying to get hired at? I have worked at medical firms, IBM, Minolta, & other big corporations ----I got jobs all over without restrictions. What restrictions? IBM gave me benefits for my partner. How can you say that we are being limited to jobs? Unless you are walking into your interview in a lumberjack outfit, flannels, and work boots trying to get an accounting position, then yeah, I can see your view on how it is difficult to get a job in that area.

Is it safe to say that a lot of lesbians love to rebel? They want to walk into a job wearing men’s trousers or jeans, making a statement, “Hey, I’m gay---and if you don’t like it, don’t hire me.” Do you think maybe that’s the case? I think so.

What about the white person who doesn’t get hired due to infirmative action? Do you think that’s fair? Do you think it’s fair that some companies only hire whites? Do you think it’s fair that some companies only hire women as their secretaries? How many men have you seen taken calls behind a desk for their boss?

Life is not fair my dear.

There are so many bigger issues here to deal with, and these lesbians will sit around smoking their peace pipe wishing their lives were better. Join the club. It’s called “life”. You can either whine and b*tch about it, or go out, and live your life fully…

Life is short…. Live it… Be happy… And show them that you can overcome any obstacle. The best revenge is success; then again, revenge is never good, is it? Please feel free to make a comment regarding this issue. All positive and negative feedbacks are welcome. Freedom of speech!

God bless!

WARNING: Leaving nasty comments may result in a cult membership, a free pair of timberland boots, a free mullet hair cut and a big pink triangle bumper sticker on the back of your pick up truck. Side effects include, an urge to bash straight people, spewing of political blabber that doesn't make sense, and a free trip to AA just to get free coffee and donuts. Some common side effects include: weight gain, loss of sleep, an appetite for cigarettes and coffee, parading around topless in parades, a nipple ring, and turning to Wicca for religion. Ask your doctor if leaving a nasty comment on this post is right for you.

Thank You, God...

This morning I woke up to this news-like show, explaining how people in Spain & Italy (and I believe other countries) will work till noon, and then take two to three hour breaks in between for lunch. Why? So their quality of life is better. They head over to a restaurant or cafe with their friends, sit, relax and enjoy a nice glass of wine along with a great meal. A lot of Americans will seek happiness in money, while others find happiness in spending time with loved ones, having a nice lunch or dinner with family and friends, and focusing on what life truly is. There are some people who work nonstop, to only end up having heart failure due to the stressors of their job. We only live once, and if we are not enjoying our lives right now due to trying desperately hard to get from point A to point B, then we may be missing out on ‘life’.

All the money in the world can’t replace the happiness that one can achieve through family & friends. If someone were to give me a billion dollars and say, “Leave this life of yours now, and take this billion and go anywhere you want.” I’d decline.

Some people work so hard, just to remain in the same position all their lives. Do you have a goal? What motivates you to work hard? What is the one thing you would like to have more than anything on this earth? (Not material-wise) Part of the reason why people are so miserable, is that they are not enjoying the ‘journey’ getting there. We focus on what we don’t have…we focus on ‘how to get this’, ‘how to get that’. Are we trying too hard?

I’m thankful for having such a close knit family and a wonderful partner to share my life with. To me, that’s worth much more than any dollar can buy me. God has truly blessed me. How has God blessed you? Sometimes we truly don’t realize what we have. Do we take too many things for granted?

Life is truly enjoying the things we have “now”.

Here are some great quotes from the bible regarding work and leisure.

Ecclesiastes 5:18-20 Even so, I have noticed one thing, at least, that is good. It is good for people to eat well, drink a good glass of wine, and enjoy their work—***whatever they do under the sun***—for however long God lets them live. And it is a good thing to receive wealth from God and the good health to enjoy it. To enjoy your work and accept your lot in life—that is indeed a gift from God. People who do this rarely look with sorrow on the past, for God has given them reasons for joy.

Thessalonians 4:11-12 This should be your ambition; to live a quiet life, minding your own business and working with your hands, just as we commanded you before. As a result, people who are not Christians will respect the way you live, and you will not need to depend on others to meet your financial needs.

Colossians 3:23 Work hard and cheerfully at whatever you do, as though you were working for the Lord rather than for people. Remember that the Lord will give you an inheritance as your reward, and the Master you are serving is Christ.

Are You a Lefty or Righty?

Having beliefs and opinions is apart of what makes us truly individuals. As unique as an opinion or belief may be, we should never judge or ridicule someone for what they stand behind. For instance, being gay- who’s to tell you that it’s wrong? (Unless you happen to step foot inside a Catholic church) Some people just assume you have opinions of a certain nature just because you are gay.

I have this problem. People assume that my political views lean left. (Democratic views) If being Christian isn’t controversial enough to people who cannot understand my belief that God accepts all, then being (mostly republican) has made me an outcast to my whole community. Just because we were born gay, does not mean that we were all born Democrats. I have opinions and strong beliefs that lean right, and some beliefs that lean left---so some would actually call me a ‘moderate’.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not some huge political activist running around protesting every single thing that irks me; I’m just stating that more of what I believe leans more on the right wing. I am just stating my opinions right now.

A lot of my fellow gay friends will send me these email forwards indicating their dislike for George W. Bush, and how the war is wrong. One girl (who is also gay) had recently emailed me explaining how an American girl unfortunately got killed in Iraq last year. Their family and friends, plus supporters were all camped outside of Bush’s vacation home. Yes, the president needs a vacation too... After all, he is human. Well, she went on to ask everyone to sign this petition to have President Bush make a press conference about this incident. It is very unfortunate that anyone was killed in Iraq. People make the conscious decision of volunteering their time to serve their country. They know the consequences, they know that their lives are at stake and they realize that a war may occur. They weren’t drafted. I appreciate every single one of our soliders out there fighting for us...They're all heroes.

In my opinion, and my belief, I feel as though George W. Bush went in there with an agenda. Yes, went in there knowing that he would capture Saddam Hussein. Not only is Saddam a dictator and has killed many, many, people in his country, but he was a threat to us. He was a threat to his own people, treating them inhumanly. God forbid nothing was done about this, he would have become another Hitler in my opinion.

Now is George W. Bush the sharpest tool in the shed? Of course not. If you have seen any of his national press conferences, you would know that there are a few screws loose. To me, he’s ‘real’, he has balls to do what has to be done, and he isn’t afraid of other left wingers bashing him.

Okay, I’m not into law or anything of that nature; I’m merely stating my opinion as an American. A few months ago I was pro-life. I did not believe that abortion should be legal. My friend pointed out to me (another gay republican friend) that God gave us ‘freedom of choice’. Why should I take away someone’s freedom of choice? Why should I even judge another for what they want to do with their lives? I decided recently that my views on abortion have changed dramatically—but, I still feel awful about it. In some countries, they are only allowed to have one baby per family. If the baby was born a girl, and if the husband wanted his name to live on, he would have the female baby aborted, so then he can try for a boy.

Gay marriages.

Hmm. This is a hard call for me. I really believe that a civil union is a wonderful option. A nice ceremony, the exchanging of commitment rings and saying your vows to be loyal to one another is significant. One friend of mine said, “Just signing your name on a deed for a house together is marriage to me.” I have to agree. I don’t need a marriage license to prove my love for my partner. A civil union enables you to reap the benefits of which straight married couples have, with the exception of it being officially ‘legal’.

President Bush said on July 2, 2003, "What I do support is the notion that marriage is between a man and a woman."

In some aspects, I agree with Bush. Here’s how I look at it. God planned marriage as to be sacred for a man and a woman to be ‘fruitful’… To produce and to have babies. Anyone can adopt children, or get artificially inseminated. The whole point of why God initiated marriage in the first place was to create a family.

Do I think gays can’t have a family? Of course not! They can have a family just like the rest of the world. Adoption and artificial insemination are options that are available. What’s important here is that we don’t cross the lines of which God intended to be sacred and “natural”.

A domesticated partnership is marriage. Even straight couples who cohabitated for a certain length of time (different in various states I believe) is considered ‘common law marriage’, they automatically get rights as a married couple…

What are your views on gay marriage? If you are gay, do you need a legal paper stating your love for your partner? Can you be content being in a loving relationship without the legalities?

This post was not meant to be taken in an offensive outlook. I’m just merely stating my “opinions” and what I believe in. I think everyone has different ideas, different ways of thinking—which makes everyone unique as individuals. I do not judge anyone for what they believe in, in fact, I’m pretty open to new ideas. Just think, my friend opened my eyes to view pro-choice in a different light.

Monogomy/Polygamy--Let's Call the Whole Thing Off!

Being single and playing the field can be a fun experience and also an eye-opening adventure. There are no ties, no strings, and no commitments to be made, unless one decides to do so. In my opinion, I think it is a good idea for someone in their early twenties to experience this ‘dating frenzy’ and get their feet wet, so they know what’s out there. Well enough to have it out of their system, so that they will appreciate the art of monogamy. I get a bit nervous due to my situation. My partner of eleven years has never been with another woman…(so she says…) However, I feel as though it would have been wise for her to do so, only because she would have seen ‘what’s out there’ and experienced all and decided, “Hey, this is the one!” She does reiterate to me the fact that she does not want to be with anyone else and her love is genuine, which I also believe too, but I also tend to think about the ‘what ifs’ if she did play the field before dating me.

I think of it like this… Let’s say that one night you order in chicken parmesan from your favorite Italian restaurant. You even have leftovers for the left day. The next night, you think to yourself, “Hmm, I think I’ll order the chicken parmesan for dinner again tonight.” This trickles into the next few days. The thing here is, you haven’t tried any other dish on their menu. The questions remains, do you think that the chicken parmesan is the only dish that is ‘good for you’? Do you think that another dish would be better? Would the chicken marcela sweep you off your feet, having you leave the chicken parmesan still under the heating lamps? I guess it is different for each individual, but that’s the way I put it into perspective in my life. I have been with a few women where I am very pleased and happy with my final selection… (Unless a new dish I haven’t heard of comes crashing through the kitchen doors!) In all seriousness, I think if you keep ordering that chicken parmesan, you’ll never know if you’ll like the other dishes. Call me a “dog” if you will, but I only speak my mind, and the truth of my opinion. I’m not saying go out and sleep with every Sue, Jane & Diane, I’m just saying, leave your options open if you are single right now. I’m a firm believer in falling in love with the person-- before she even knows you are in love with her --- meaning, your love was always there for her, making the future-- or I should say, potential relationship all the more better. I hope that makes sense. Mutual love is always a good idea to look for; you don’t want a one-sided love. That’s never a good feeling when being involved with someone you care about.

New relationships always start awkward, don’t they? It’s all a big learning experience and trying to get to know the other person better. The first year can be very rocky. You expect one thing, yet you get another at times. You’ll find this especially true in those ‘quick-started’ relationships where the two people just meet and already have the sofas picked out. Their expectations may be a bit too high for their new partner, and may cause some frequent quarrelling.

What about those relationships where it’s that explosive, ‘can’t get enough of her’—yet I want to pull my hair out—type of situation? These are what I call ‘stormy relationships’. When the two are in love and happy, everything is ‘hunky dory’ ---nothing can come between these two. They are attached to the hip-- when you see one, you see the other; the two cannot be away from each other. They look like the happiest couple alive. Always hugging & kissing, holding hands, giving one another goofy looks, and the long stares that they give while they are talking to one another. Sounds so nice, doesn’t it? Let’s take a look on the other side of this ‘wall’.
When they fight, it is brutal! The storm is fierce with lightening that would knock any tree out of its roots. At times there can be verbal attacks, as well as physical in some (which is never good)… The relationship will be on and off constantly. The break ups get so frequent, as well as the ‘make ups’. At some point, they even break up, just to make up. You can’t beat make up sex! The trick here is, having that making up feeling last well throughout the relationship. It’s a constant battle to try to keep these two from breaking up, and then in a few weeks, back together again. It’s a vicious cycle that is almost like an addiction to these couples. I have been through this cycle of doom, and came to a conclusion regarding this type of madness…
I’d rather be safe, comfortable with the woman I love, being monogamous & not having to deal with the emotional havoc of an unhealthy relationship or affair.

I have been through those storms and it’s such a relief to be in a safe shelter now. I know at times we find those storms to be ‘exciting’ and adventurous, but those storms can bring in not only emotional harm, but physical harm to your body as well. The one unhealthy relationship that I had in my past, or ‘storm’ if you will, left me with scars to last me throughout my lifetime. You don’t have to let those ‘scars’ affect you today, but it’s just a reminder of what you’ve been through. A lot of women in our lifestyle find it very difficult to stay in a monogamous relationship. They have other female friends that they are bonding with, and that emotional connection (again I will refer to) always brings them into a deeper level of their friendship—usually leaving them with an ‘oops night’. What do I mean by an ‘oops night’? Well, if the two are out, having a great time, possibly a few cocktails involved, it may be possible for these two to have a kiss that wasn’t meant to be, or even go further with their intimate moment. One is involved, the other is not, and it makes for a touchy situation, leaving the committed one feeling guilty, and the friend feeling even guiltier. In most cases, the two regret the ‘happenings’ and try to remain friends, but in a lot of circumstances, it is very hard, now that they have come to this level. Women are like elephants (sorry to refer to THAT) – but they are…they never forget. Isn’t it true, we always replay things over and over in our mind, making things seem much larger than they really are? We’re women, we can’t help it! We can all sit around denying what happened and try to be friends, but the truth of the matter is, “we went there”---so now what? What an uncomfortable situation this can be. A lot of times these two will refrain from hanging out ‘as much’---maybe get together at parties, special occasions and other events, but never how they used to spend time together. What’s worse in this case is if only ONE person is feeling awkward about the situation, and the other one—just brushed it off as if nothing happened. Now, the person who brushed it off-- as if nothing happened, will feel the effects of her friend being distant and behaving awkward in front of her. She will definitely pick up on it; leaving the both to feel that same ‘awkwardness.’

Can these two friends try to work their issues out? In my opinion, it’s hard enough to ‘go there’ and bring it up for one, and it’s definitely nothing you want to start up again as well---if you want to save the relationship that you’re in. The other person may still have lingering feelings for you, which you may not want to tap into. Your safe bet (if you are the one in the monogamous relationship) is to wait for your friend to find a partner—and for them to be content and happy in their new relationship. Possibly, things will subside, depending on the two individuals.

Another alarming disadvantage to polygamy is, STDs. I don’t think lesbians think they can get STDs—just because they are not with a man. News flash women!!! Women get STDs just as men do! Think about it, the amount of ‘kissing bandits’ out there is enough to make you wonder what’s brewing under the lesbian community. You have to be just as safe as if you were to have intercourse with a man. Yes, I said it… Heterosexual/homosexual/bi-sexual & transgender, we all have to protect ourselves. No one is left out of this loop. Diseases are not prejudice; they will strike at any given time if-- given the opportunity. You can end up with lifetime-annoying diseases like herpes and gonorrhea, or you can even end up with the most deadly diseases such as HIV and AIDS. If you are in a monogamous relationship, it is extremely unfair if you bring something home that she isn’t anticipating—thinking that you are faithful and having her guard down. It is not only irresponsible, but it is a true sign of disrespect. Just as if you had an STD, you would inform your partner about it—just as well as you would inform your lover that you have multiple partners. They need to be aware so they could take the proper precautions. Honesty and communication go hand-in-hand.

My advice? Either be single or be monogamous, and if you are polygamous—then please be safe.

Lesbians Anonymous

The inevitable question always remains, “Well, when did you come out?” I always knew I was gay since I was a child, however, I thought it was impossible to meet someone like ‘me’. Did I want to really meet someone like ‘me’? Hmm. What I mean is, I wanted to find a woman, who was only into women. That was hard to find at the age of nine-teen. Recently out of high-school and starting a new job at a medical firm, I had to remain quiet. I felt like bursting. I couldn’t hold it in. I knew that this was not going to last any longer. I already had a crush on one of the managers in the office, which consequently had a flirtatious way about her, but I didn’t think anything of it due to the fact that she was a ‘career woman’ and she was quite feminine. She was twenty-nine years old, sophisticated, classy and very professional. Naw, she couldn’t be a lesbian. This was impossible. Plus, what would she want with a nine-teen year old freshly out of school doing data entry work? I’m just a piss ant!

Keep in mind that she was not in my department, and had no involvement with the work that I was performing. My sister Dawn, who was in the sales department got me that job as a temp. Being nervous at my new ‘real’ job, I was excited to get some experience in the office. (Come on people, minds out of the gutter!)

Karen, who was the flirtatious woman that worked there, often stopped by my desk, which was located on the other end of the building. My office was across the hall from the mailroom, so every morning she would pick up her mail like clockwork, and then make a beeline straight for my office. She would linger and talk to me for a while. We started to get to know one another. She would ask me about my personal life, what I did on the weekends and who I dated, etc…and I would ask her about her life. She was quite the ‘club’ girl, single, and dating. Yes, her dates were men, but there was something different about her, and a certain vibe she gave off telling me, “Come hither!” Hmm. Maybe I’m just making this up in my mind. I started crushing over this woman big time.

Months passed by, and Karen and I frequently took trips out of the office for lunch. It became a ritual. On my birthday, she came into my office, shut the door behind her, and I noticed she had a wrapped up little box in her hand. A gift! Wow. The mailboy Joey walked in to give me my junk mail, and Karen immediately took on a defense and yelled at him. “Joey! Can you give us a minute please! Shut the door on your way out!” She said in such an agitated tone. I was even taken back a bit, because it was so out of line.

“Wow, a present for me?” I asked.
“Yeah…..” She said; blushing and smiling from ear-to-ear.
As I opened up the little box, my thoughts rushed over to, “Oh Lord, why is this box looking like an engagement ring box…What is going on? Why is she giving me a present?” A card would have been more appropriate, yet I was appreciative.
It was a ring. No, not an engagement ring, but nevertheless, a ring. It was a silver ring with little stones in it- very pretty actually. What finger do I put it on though?


Do I kiss her? Do I hug her to let her know I was grateful? What is the ~awkward gift~ etiquette in this case? Oh God, I’m going in for the hug! As I went in for the hug, she managed to steal a kiss from me, right near the corner of my lips. Close enough to the point of, hmmm…..yeah she’s gay. This could have been totally innocent in most cases, but the way she looked at me, I felt like I was being raped. Literally.

She then asked if we could meet up later on that evening to grab a bite to eat. We did. We had a nice dinner, over a bottle of wine…and then she took me back to my car, which was parked outside of the company’s parking lot. Now this is where the awkward moment starts. The ‘loud’ silence after the car has been parked. You think it gets awkward there? She turns her car OFF! Does she plan to go in the office to do a little overtime? Or does she expect some sort of romantic encounter to take place?

“Well thank you so much for the ring, and dinner, I really appreciate this, Karen.”
“You’re welcome.” She says, quietly, as she smiles and stares into my eyes a bit too long.
“Uhh, yeah, well, I guess I’ll see you 8am bright and early tomorrow.” I suggest, hinting that I wanted to go, but I really didn’t, I was trying to feel her out. (not up) ha!

She leaned in for the kiss. It was not the same kiss she gave me in the office for my birthday. This was my very first kiss. Even though it was nothing else, my heart was speeding like a roaring engine. I’m in love.

I clumsily make my way out of the car. I felt like Erkel at this point—all in love and feeling so dumbfounded over this new feeling I had. I drove forty-five minutes back home with this euphoric feeling.

My thoughts were wandering over to, “What if my sister finds out—she’ll be so appalled by this! She’ll disown me as a sister! I can’t have her know this! What did I get myself into?” It tormented me. Well, that week, we had a going away lunch for one of our co-workers. We all headed to this restaurant that was really nice. Karen was sitting next to me---she always managed to get a seat where I was, even if it was a meeting in the conference room. Dawn was right across from me. During lunch, I had to make my way to the bathroom. As I went inside the rest room, I noticed that Karen was right behind me. I was so worried at this point that my sister would find out just by the mere glimpses that Karen and I were exchanging. Even though Karen and I were only talking in there, pretending like it was no big deal that the two of us entered the rest room-- at the same time, I had this gut feeling that my sister was going to think something else.

We came back to our seats, and my sister smiled and went on with her conversation. She had no clue! I’m in the clear. I was so paranoid of being ‘outed’, that it nearly consumed all my thoughts of how to prevent that from occurring.

Karen and I continued our ‘little dates’, nothing went beyond anything other than a little romantic dinner and a kiss goodnight basically. She then popped the news to me that this is ‘just what it is’, dinner and dates, and if I wanted more, she would oblige, however, she is not looking for any type of relationship due to her position in the company. She can’t afford to have her career in jeopardy due to an affair she was having with some peon that worked as a data entry clerk. (She didn’t say it in those words—but that’s basically how I took it) My heart broke. She sat there in my car, after a nice lunch telling me this.

~Please get out of the car now, please get out so I can cry!~

I thought to myself-------I couldn’t have her in my car, I was ready to burst into tears. She gave me a kiss goodbye, and we both headed off to our separate offices on the opposite sides of the building.

I was so depressed over this- literally heartbroken. No one knew why I was so upset. I couldn’t tell anyone. I was aching to tell someone about my heartbreak, but who? I finally told my sister Dawn about what happened. I thought she would totally be repulsed by my encounter with Karen. They were friends, and professional co-workers. I remember telling Dawn about it, explaining the episode of why Karen always followed me to the rest room at luncheons, and why Karen was always in my office –when she had no business to be.

Dawn took the information as if I just told her I got a bad haircut. No big deal. You’ll get over it. She didn’t think differently of me. She still loved me, whether I was straight, bi, gay or whatever—she loved me for ‘me’ and not who I loved. That meant a lot to me, and it was at that moment that I decided I was coming out.

Who Are You Fooling?

I can just imagine how many of you right now are going to relate to this post. Let’s talk about misrepresenting yourself on an online personal ad. How many people have experienced the pleasure of getting a gorgeous woman to respond to your ad, her profile indicates, “I’m independent, I love working out, very fit and I love to go out for fine dining. I am very attractive, but yet modest.” Yada yada yada… The picture on her profile is just amazing! Wow, is this woman really single? Is she really a lesbian? If it sounds too good to be true, it usually is.

My best friend Lisa was meeting her online date in person for the first time. She was nervous and excited about this new date. She called me up and explained how this girl had blonde hair, blue eyes and loved to work out. The girl gave Lisa the impression she was very feminine; in fact she claimed that she was extremely feminine. Lisa was very happy to hear that as her preference leans towards the feminine qualities of a woman. Lisa walked into the restaurant and sat down at the booth. She ordered a glass of cabernet to ease her nerves a bit. When she saw the girl walking inside to meet her, she sensed that ‘this was her’. How can this be her though? The girl was dressed up in a leather vest, with nothing else underneath, tattoos on her arm and a pair of old jeans with boots. She had blonde hair alright—but the type of blonde where you haven’t washed it in about a week, so it becomes that dirty strawberry blondish color. Her hair was tied up so tightly on top of her hair that her pony tail was less than an inch long. This girl did not represent any nature of femininity whatsoever. She had no make up, weathered looking and she appeared as if she didn’t take much care in her appearance. This was not what Lisa expected at all. Needless to say the date ended very shortly after dinner.

Why are people misrepresenting themselves online? Do they think in a strange way that they won’t find out once you meet in person? Do they think that we’ll forget about the gorgeous picture that was posted oppose to what the cat dragged in the restaurant instead? These people need to be honest upfront and be truthful about who they are online. It’s great to say good things about yourself, but to lavish it up as if you were some sort of model is another thing. It amazes me how different people can be from their online personal ad to what they are in person. These are phrases from personal ads to watch for…I will give you the true definition of what they mean by these statements that they made about themselves.

For instance:

Laid back bohemian-type: overly nervous person who look like they’re a bag of laundry.

I don’t like drama: I have caused enough drama in my past relationships to possibly know if I may or may not do it again. I’m on medication now.

I’m independent: I take care of two or more cats at home & have a part time job.
I’m femme with an edge: I have hair down to my shoulders but usually wear a baseball cap wherever I go.

I love animals: I love animals more than humans because they ‘understand me more’.

I love sushi: I’m trying to be exotic and show you that I like culture, but really, I just like the California rolls and anything else that’s cooked. A good burger joint is fine with me!

I’m in pre-med & studying for my masters while working two jobs: I have absolutely no time for you, I may not finish school because I have so much crap going on, so writing this ad has taken a lot of time from me. I’m on medication now.

I came across one person I met online where they had given me the impression that they were very thin. I don’t give a rat’s behind about how skinny or heavy a person may be. What I do care about is the lying that goes behind these profiles. The evening I met up with this potential ‘friend’, I realized that she was extremely obese. To me, she was the nicest person – she had a great personality, weight had no impact on my opinion towards her. The only thing that I found alarming was her description of herself. It was very misleading and for other people, they would have confronted this issue with her. For me, I really didn’t care. I came to her house, hung out and had a few beers with her and got to know her as a person instead of harping on the really bad self description. I had a great time and made a close friend out of it.

Online dating services are tricky. You really have to keep an opened mind about the possibility of meeting someone who misled you into thinking you were meeting a Britney Spears look-alike. Some of these pictures are over ten years old for crying out loud! Where do these people get off posting pictures from a decade ago? “Well it’s the only one I had.” Bullshit! This is the type of person who lures you in with a sexy picture from years back when they weighed 115 lbs and had a body of a super model. Do they think that we’re really not going to notice when they come walking into the restaurant or café to meet us? Let’s be a little more realistic and a little more honest when it comes to placing an ad.

Have you ever seen the section in a personal ad where it shows you what their ‘interests’ are? My ex-girlfriend—the one I met a few years ago while my partner and I were separated, her ad consisted of things that I have yet to see her do. I find it quite funny actually. The person placing the ad has to check off the appropriate boxes that indicate which activity and hobby they love to do. Well here was my ex’s check offs:
Hiking: The last time she hiked was probably on a sixth grade field trip up in a state part somewhere. This girl will roam a parking lot for hours upon hours for a good spot so she doesn’t have to walk far. Come on!

Camping: Are you kidding me? Her type of camping entailed a Marriott suite with room service.

Yoga: This is something she should have taken up. The girl was so high-strung her vein on her forehead would pop out everytime something upset her. Medication is her ‘yoga’.

Meditation: I guess you can say she meditated….when she slept at night.
Meditation/medication- Let’s call the whole thing off!

Housekeeping: What? Are you crazy? The nerve to mark this as something you do! First of all she didn’t have her own place till her parents kicked her out. When she did get her own apartment which was a studio, the dishes were piled up high from a week prior.

Running: The poor thing smoked so much she wheezed just walking from the living room over to the kitchen.

Music: Okay, so she liked music but didn’t play an instrument. Who doesn’t like music though?

Skiing: Oh come on now- the girl is bad enough on her own two feet. She thought about skiing, but never attempted it.

Swimming: Hmm, well she swam in my pool, more like walked on the shallow end the whole time. I don’t call that swimming. I believe she almost drowned in her own bath tub.

Tennis: Oh please, the girl didn’t even own a racquet!

Do you see my point here? Why are we checking off hobbies that we do not participate in? It puzzles me whenever I find out someone doesn’t do one or more of the following ‘check offs’… See, I’m the type that will remember everything that you check off on your hobby box. I do this because I like an activity partner, and I want to know what type of sports one is interested in, or what I can talk about when I see them in person.

Let’s start being real here people!

Debate: Beer Before Liquor?

“Finish your dinner, you hardly touched a thing!”
“I did, they just gave me a lot…”
“I saw what you ate, and it was practically nothing Deb.”
“Lisa, I ate, I am full, and I had an appetizer before this and a salad.” I reply, frustrated over the fact she cannot understand that the portion I had was a bit too much.
“Well bring it home.” Lisa suggests.
“I don’t want to leave that crap in my car if we’re going out, plus it’s all out outside, I’ll get some funky disease from eating old, ~left out in the heat~ chicken.”
“Can we wrap these up and take them home?” Lisa asks the waitress.
Now this crap is going to be lying in my car fermenting, smelling like a damn chicken coupe! I hate when people leave food in my car, because it totally engulfs the entire airspace.

Okay. Fine. Discussion over with, the food was in the back seat of my car, and we were off to go meet with friends at a bar nearby.

“Deb, We’re driving in circles.”
“No Lisa, we’re not, it’s just that everything looks the same to you since you live in a city.”
“Deb, we passed this a few minutes ago, we’re definitely driving around in a circle.” Lisa insists.
“Lisa, I’ve been living here all my life, we are not driving in circles.”
The bickering continues...

Lisa and I are like an old married, bickering couple. Even when we are walking around in the park, our hands are up in the air—indicating that there is some sort of argument taking place. You pass us by, and all you hear is, “No! No! No! That’s not so!” Don’t get me wrong, Lisa is a wonderful person and we have tons of fun together, but it’s hysterical how we disagree on everything, and anything.

“Liquor before beer makes you sicker?” Lisa asks.
“No…liquor before beer, never fear, beer before liquor makes you sicker. Most of all, just don’t mix…that’ll get you sick more than anything.” I reply.
“No, no, no, it’s the other way around—that’s not true.” She insists, sipping her gin and tonic.
“Okay!” I say, giving up and throwing my hands up in the air.
After her vodka drink, her gin and tonic, and her beer…I was ready to experience the hangover remedy.

(Refer to Hangover Blues in archive)

The morning after.

“Here take this.” I tell Lisa, as she is hunched over my couch with a thumping headache. I give her a glass of water, a banana, Gatorade and 1,000 mg of vitamin C. In fifteen minutes, I’ll give you the Motrin if this doesn’t help.
“Deb, ugh, my head, I feel sick.”
“Well, liquor before beer should have been the rule here.” I say, chuckling under my breath. I was very happy to see that I wasn’t the one who was wrong in this case, or I would have been the big lump on my couch, grunting and moaning over a headache.

Three hours pass. The headache is still a’thumpin’…
“Here.” I hand her a nice big goblet of a bloody mary, lemon wedge on the side, with a big celery stalk sticking out. Who couldn’t resist this beautiful drink? It was a work of art. She drank it slowly thinking it would make her sick again. I can actually see the improvement of her posture as she kept sipping the cocktail.

“This is good!” Lisa says with her eyes now opened a little wider.
“I know. Now say, Debbie you were right all along!” I tell her, acting all cocky now...
It was at that point, she had given me the ol’ Italian evil eye. I shut my mouth for the rest of that morning.

My beautiful friend loves to argue and bicker with me, but as much as we disagree on many things, I love my Lisa very much. We’re close enough to withstand any disagreements, but close enough to know that ‘it’s just that’, and nothing else. I don’t think I’d have her any other way, because then, who would I have these arguments with? They’re fun, it’s challenging to see who’s right, and who’s wrong, and most of all, it’s even more fun to laugh at when it’s over...

I'm glad we crossed each other's pass and hope to have you in my life, always Lisa!

Prepare to Look Your Best

Just when you thought it got bad, it gets worse. 2pm in the afternoon, I rush over to the gym in this stifling heat. Already sweating before I reach the doors, I enter into a brisk refrigerator-like room full of women speed ellipticalin’ like a bunch of psychos on crack. I swipe my membership card and head for the bathroom. I make my way down the gym into the weight area. All the men are all buff and muscular, growling at themselves in the mirror like a bunch of lunatics. It is necessary to scream like a banshee while lifting weights? It’s hysterical to see the skinny guys do it.

Heading into the bathroom now, I can’t help to notice how wet the sink is. My mind keeps screaming, “GERMS! GERMS!” I start my ‘cleaning regimen’ before I head out to touch those grimy machines. I always make it a habit to notice if the person using the machine before me wipes down the handles and seat before I start using it. If I don’t get a chance to see them wipe it down, of course I do it myself. If I was brave enough, I would wear rubber surgical gloves like an OCD freak.

I always wondered what the workout etiquette was when someone get on a cardio machine next to you while there are many left over on the other side. Do you say hello to them? Do you make small chat? I always feel the need to turn the volume down on my I-Pod as they get on the machine next to me—just in case they say something. The one thing that annoys me (which is quite polite of these people) is when someone takes the remote control for one of the televisions and asks you, “Are you watching this?” Better yet---they sign language it. It never fails, you take the earplugs out and say, “Oh, no, I’m okay—thanks!” White earplugs = I-Pod or musical device. Can’t these people tell if your plugged into the cardio theater? Puzzles me.

Okay back to my germ mania. After a good work out, there’s nothing like laying down in the tanning bed to get a little color. First of all, let me tell you- I am such a poor excuse of an Italian. I don’t tan. I burn; much like a lobster. So my fifteen minutes of basking in that enclosed coffin, is basically frying my @ss. My milky skin can't take much ultra-vioilet rays. I feel like a female version of "Powder"...

Tanning bed drill:

1.) Make sure you disinfect the entire glass of the tanning bed. Douse that sucker up with the cleaning solution that they provide you with—even the top glass as well! Do you know how many germs are partying in there? Ugh! The thought!

2.) Always remember to wash that pleather pillow. It’s a sponge for bacteria.

3.) Always keep your hair up, so that most of it is not touching the bed or pillow.

4.) Clean clean clean that tanning bed off for the next person.

5.) When you get in the locker room or home---WASH your hair, and scrub your body down. Even though you cleaned that tanning bed- ew, you know my thoughts.

If you fail to do these tips- I promise you that a cold will come on within a week! It always happens to me. No I am not freaking out, it’s true.

Now tanning a few times to look good for an event it a good idea. Tanning consistently is another thing. You end up looking like a big fat carrot. I’m telling you- I learned the hard way. My skin literally turned orange. My teeth lit up like a Christmas tree. The Crest White Strips didn’t help much either---I was literally glowing. People kept asking me, “You’re teeth are so white.” No damn it! My skin is so orange! People will notice this orange hue that you emit. It sometimes looks like a bad case of make up application. I don’t know which one is worse.

Now another reason for going into the tanning bed heavens was to get my source of vitamin D in the winter. They say that you get your vitamin D through ultra violet rays- ie: the sun and the tanning bed. Some people go through seasonal depression due to not being outside as much in the winter. Vitamin D is also found in milk as well, but I’d rather sit and relax in a tanning bed to get mine.

Everything in moderation, right? Sometimes we overdo things and sometimes we just don’t do enough of one thing. There’s never a happy medium. The mere thought of running in place just to go nowhere, stationary cycling without traveling an inch---and stepping on stairs…to nowhere! Has the modern world forced us to avoid the outdoor activities, which were so much fun back then, to a room full of stationary machines that only do one purpose—exercise without the enjoyment of an activity?

What are your thoughts? Do you enjoy working out better outside? Or do you prefer working out in a gym? What motivates you to exercise? Is the sun better than a tanning bed? Or is lying down on a glass bed much more enjoyable than sitting on a nice lounge near a pool getting the same results?

Sad, huh?

Rubber Ducky

It was a beautiful August evening, sitting out on the patio with my family and playing with my cute little three year old niece, Sophia. We were all talking and having a good time. Sophia started to run around the patio table, over and over again. She was making me dizzy at this point.
~SpLAT~ ~^~^~^~~~

I hear the wails of cries coming from the other side of the table. Sophia had fallen on the patio, where the air conditioning water was leaking out. We all rushed up to see if she was okay. Mud all over the palms of her hands, her legs and her whole outfit, we had to take them off so she would be cleaner and put on something new. As I went to pick her up, to bring her inside-- ~^~RALF~^~!!!-----She threw up all over me. My entire outfit was covered in white milky chunks.

I love my niece I love my niece I love my niece I thought to myself…

Again! She tossed her cookies up all over a second time around, making sure that my hair was also included. This must be love, because I was still holding her. I gently put her down so she can finish off the rest of the grass- to fertilize the flowers. The poor girl fell so hard that she scared herself sick. Literally.

Dawn (my sister) and I brought her up to my bathroom to take a nice bath. Yes. I had to wait for my clean up. I smelled like who did it and ran. We know who did it—and she was in my bathtub. Oh the laughs, the giggles and the happiness spewing out from the bubbles from beyond.
“Look mama! Rubba duckies!” As she points to the top of the window sill for her mother to get them for her.

Are you still wondering why I have rubber duckies in my bathroom when I am without child? Yeah, thanks for even going there…

Let me explain. Madelene and I go to Provincetown, MA every year, I as explained in previous posts. The theme of the resort that we stay in has rubber duckies with sailor hats. Madelene was in the Navy, so this was significant to her. The other rubber ducky was from a pirate museum in Provincetown--with a pirate's hat; which Madelene is obsessed with anything that has to do with shipwrecks, pirates, the Titanic, etc… So these rubber duckies are like little trinkets of her experience in Cape Cod. Sentimental value—if you will..

Sophia is full of bubbles, looking adorable, playing with the two rubber duckies in the tub and looking her jovial-self more than ever.
“Mama! Duckies come home with me! Duckies come home with me!” Sophia voice echoes out through the bathroom, into the hallway where Madelene was standing. The horror on Madelene’s face explained a lot. She did not want to part with her rubber duckies.


What? How old is Madelene. She’s forty-one. Oh- wait, I’m sorry, twenty-nine. I still want to keep my teeth.

Dawn dries Sophia off with an oversized towel, and looking absolutely adorable right now. There’s something about a little kid getting out of a bathtub with wet hair, all clean, and wrapped up in an oversized towel, it’s just so sweet! How can you say NO to this adorable little girl? You just can’t!

Wait—she still has the rubber duckies in her hand while walking out of the bathroom. Madelene’s face turns green.

I then proceed to shower up because, well, I’m just a complete mess. I stink of vomit and I need soap ASAP. This was a job for HASMAT.

I come downstairs after I shower up and join the rest of the family. The duckies are there. Madelene is there. Sophia is staring at Madelene. Hmm.
“Magic- I wanna bring duckies home.” Sophia calls Madelene ‘Magic’—close enough, right? The only thing Magic doesn’t do very well is disappear…ah well.
“Sophia, the duckies live with Magic, you can visit them when you come over.” Dawn reassures Sophia that she will see them again.
“I want the duckies mama!” Sophia now starts to kiss the duckies and hold them tightly.
“Oh she can have them Dawn!” Madelene says, as I can see her eyebrows up in the air (a sign of when she is either lying or doing something she doesn’t want to) I read her facial expressions very well.
I’m starting to feel worse bad for Madelene than Sophia at this point! This is a war against a three year old, and a forty-one year old…I mean twenty-nine!

“We’ll get you bigger and better ones next month when we go to Provincetown, Sophia.” I said to her, feeling all bad for ‘my big baby’. I have all intentions of buying her a huge stash of rubber duckies this week.

Sophia kisses the duckies goodbye, and she gives them back to Magic. Madelene promises to replenish her with bigger and better rubber duckies.

I didn’t know who to feel bad for more-- the little girl, or my big girl that lives with me! I guess sentimental value goes beyond any object, even if it is a cheap ol’ rubber ducky. The fact that these duckies were not mine, Sophia knew I had no choice. So the wrath of Sophia will continue on for Madelene. I’m glad I wasn’t the one in possession of these God forsaken ducks.
WARNING: Withholding any playful object or rubber ducky will result in serious consequences. Side effects include, massive amounts of screaming in ear, severe migrains, an overwhelming sense of guilt, two black eyes, unknown bite marks on your calves, and a grudge that will last a lifetime. Ask your doctor if witholding rubber duckies from a child is right for you.

What's Up Doc?

Once you’ve thought my madness was just absolutely bazaar, now think of this. You go into a doctor’s office; you sit in their chairs to wait for your name to be called. I’m writing this part down because I was doing just ‘that’ this very morning. As I was walking in, I make sure no one sees me, so I can use a tissue to open the door. This is a family doctor who sees patients with all different types of colds, or whatever they have brewing on their dirty little paws. I go to sit down, and I see other people picking up magazines from the little round tables they have out at each end of the seats.

Think of how many germs you can contract just by touching those magazines. People sneezing on pages, people licking pages to get to another, and just the fact that there are sick people in the doctor’s office is enough to think, “Hey, this may not be a good idea to touch everything they touch.” Many people get sick just by walking into the doctor’s office. I was pleasantly surprised that the office was at a very cool temperature, because it was muggy outside. My brain always flips to---it’s WAY too warm in this germ fest—you never know what bacteria de jour you’ll contract.

The art of avoiding eye contact with other people sitting in the waiting room with you has now become a game of ‘who can look away faster’. What else are you going to do if you are not flipping through Home and Gardens? ‘People watching’ is the second best time filler. Pictures and paintings on the wall only go so far. You always manage a way to point your antennas into someone else’s conversation. It’s not as if their small talk is a wee bit interesting, we’re bored! Realizing that my hand has been on the metal arm of the chair for more than five seconds, I reach down into my purse to grab my hand sanitizer- just in case. I pretend it’s like lotion so people won’t think I’m a freak; which…I am...

“Debbie?” The nurse calls from the door across the room.
I always get up like a dog who has just been taken off his leash. I rush up to the door and thank the heavens I don’t have to sit in that germ pool any longer.
“Right this way, the second door on your left is where you’ll be waiting for the doctor.”
“Thanks.” I say as I trot down the hall like a big ol’ pony.
“Go ahead and sit on the patient’s chair.” The nurse says from the hall.
There it is. The dreaded aqua-green chair with the roll of paper placed on the top. It doesn’t even cover the whole entire seat.
CruNcH~^CruNcH~^--- Ugh. Lovely. What’s the point of this paper? Just wipe the damn seat off with the tons of rubbing alcohol that you have, and BaM!!!!---Less cost in rolling paper, and you’ll save a tree! Where’s my damn granola?

Now you start educating yourself on all the tools the doctor needs. From wooden tongue suppressors, q-tips, cotton balls, alcohol and peroxide to band-aides to scalpels… Scalpels? Why would the family doctor need scalpels? It’s not as if he does surgery in this room. You glance over at the fake human organs that are on display for educational purposes, and wonder what each one is. I hope the doctor knows.

Of course the waiting is just agonizing. Each footstep that you hear you think, “Oh! Here comes the doc! Great!” But no. It’s not the doctor. You wait and stalk the doorknob as if it’ll turn faster just by staring at it a little longer. Turn….turn….TURN DAMN IT!
Ugh. The back of your legs starts to stick to the paper that you’re sitting on, and with each squirm, you make that crinkly sound.

Abruptly and by surprise, the doctor whips in the room like he’s Cosmo Kramer. He has the little clipboard along with your profile and whatever you’re allergic to. Yes, he has a novel on me.

“Soooooooooo…….why are we here today?” He asks with his one eyebrow up.
“Oh this is not I-Hop?” I answer back to let him know that ‘we’ are here for a reason, READ YOUR CHART YOU NIMROD!
Why do doctors always ask us why we are there, when the chart is right in front of them. This scares me. I hope one day if I am on an operating table under anesthesia, that my surgeon isn’t going to be asking that very same question.

“Hmm…I think I’ll give her a sex change!” ~Wa-LA~

“Doc, I am here for blood tests. I want to get a physical as I requested. I fasted like you said to do. Take my blood, check it out, and call me in the morning.”
“Okay, so do you feel dizzy? Do you get chest pains? Do you suffer from fatigue?” He asks.
“Yes, I do get chest pains, but I think it’s because Madelene made some sort of spicy Spanish dish.” I said.
"Ut! Okay! Be right back!” He rushes out immediately after I say that. Upon his return, he throws me five samples of some anti-acid medicine, and he rolls in a huge EKG machine (for your heart) to see if I have abnormalities.
“Oh, I really don’t think my heart is bad, I got that checked, I seriously think it’s just a bad case of heart burn.” I tried to reassure him.
“Can’t be sure, we gotta do this test. Remove your shirt, but leave your bra on…”
He hooks me up to these gadgets all over my body. He even had these sticky things on my legs. I didn’t even get a chance to shave---he must have been shocked and appalled when he lifted up my pant leg. How embarrassing! This physical was a very intimate one, if I had known, I would have moisturized and shaved! Thank God this was not a date!

“Okay, all done...You’re fine!” He says.
“I know.” I said, as I waited for him to pluck those things off me.
He pulled each one off so fast that I think he basically gave me a spotty wax. For the love of God---easy tiger!

Now for the blood… This guy better get this right. Oh…what’s this? A beautiful nurse walks in?
"Yes, my nurse will be handling the blood tests." The doctor says, as he leaves and says goodbye.

Hellooooooooooooooooooooooooooo nurse!

I wish it was the other way around, I could have been touched by a nurse without my shirt on. Hmm….maybe not such a good idea since I looked like Chewbacca from knee down.

Needless to say, blood was taken nicely, no problems there, but this nurse was a Chatty Cathy who couldn’t stop talking about her eye surgery. Lovely. As I was looking at my time, remembering that I fasted the night before for this blood test, my stomach was gurgling—I was starving.

~Oh please stop talking please stop talking -so I can leave- or I’ll poke your eye out!~

My thoughts became negative. They became more desperate to get out of there.

"You’re all set Deb! You can go, and we’ll call you in a few days with your blood results." The pretty nurse says, as she wraps up to see her next lucky patient.
“Thank you nurse, I appreciate it.” I said as, I booked down the hall like a Great Dane running for his food.

Moral of the story: I made it to I-Hop.

My Sweet OCD

Coexisting with someone can be frustrating at times. Living with your girlfriend/boyfriend or husband/wife can be quite the challenge as well; depending on both parties. There are so many things we learn about our partners once you both move in together. Things you had no clue about while you were courting them.
There is always one party who is more anal retentive than the other. Take for instance, “me”… OCD Deb has to have everything ‘just so’.
“Honey, can you remember to put the anti-bacterial blue soap in the shower, and the soft vitamin E Aloe soap near the sink?”
The antibacterial soap is still by the sink. My skin is drier than the desert right now, because I simply forget to do it myself once I am in there in the morning, cake in eye and all. I have this horrible habit of using new products, before the old ones are empty. I’ll explain…We both use the same hairspray. Madelene stocks them up in threes in our huge closet full of toiletries much like a supermarket does. She lines them up; the first one has been used, almost empty, the second and third one—full. I have this thing where I need to use the second one, because the one that is almost empty, could die out on me. Don’t ask. Anal! The next morning, the empty one is right in front again. “AHHHH!” Not good for my OCD. Maybe I should check if the door is locked downstairs...did I shut the stove off when I was done cooking?

The battle between the conflict of, should the ‘liquid hand soap’ be on the left side of the sink, or the right dilemma. My opinion? Left. Most people are right handed, turning on the faucet with their right hand. Left hand can pump the soap. I don’t want soap all over the right side due to the fact our toothbrushes are there. Which leaves me to another trauma---my toothbrush cannot touch hers. For the love of God—we kiss—we swap spit! How can I be cautious about that? Doesn’t make sense, I know. It’s all in my head though. While growing up, I would never, ever drink or sip something out of someone else’s glass. I still have that issue today. Madelene will ask if she can taste my wine. I cringe. Madelene asks for a kiss, I’m excited! Do the math.

“She’ll kiss da’ cat, but she don’t wanna drink outa’ ma-cup!” My father says in his Brooklyn accent. He always knew about my weird manias.

“Oh, try this, it’s a Cuban cigar, it’s supposed to be the cleanest tobacco…”
As long as I’m the first one to light that sucker up, bring it on. I’ll try anything once…I’d be a bad candidate for sharing a joint, that’s for sure. Thank God I don’t have a love for marijuana. I’d want my own joint! "Don’t touch mine!!!” Can you just imagine? Passing a peace pipe around me would be a very challenging thing, also very exhausting.

If someone happened to take a sip out of my drink, I would simply turn the glass ‘just so’ that it was opposite to where I was now sipping. Sometimes, if my ‘issues’ were bad enough with this person, I would even apply lipstick to make this more evident. Sick? Yes. Need help? Don’t want any.
“Wanna bite Deb?” Mad asks as she is eating a sandwich.
“No!”
She knows the reply she is going to get. I mean, it has nothing to do with anything other than issues I have had since growing up. Germs. I tell you one thing, I have the cleanest hands going in my town! I used to wear my nails really long, get them painted and whip out that feminine card. Now? After my sister Cathy had her first baby, and Cathy being a registered nurse at a hospital, she has educated me on things of interest. Cleanliness. Yes, I am blaming my sister Cathy for my cleanliness. She explained to me that she is not permitted to wear her nails a certain length, because she can literally get another baby sick, or possibly even worse case scenario, die from whatever germs are under her nails. Acrylics—forget it. I keep my nails nice and short, but manicured still. Another reason I keep my nails short is because I play guitar. I'd rather my guitar over my nails any day! So it works out well...

Cathy also taught me the ‘drill’ before any operation or any protocol to start a procedure. The hand washing technique. This is good for anyone to do-regardless of OCD or not.

1. Never touch the toilet lever. Use your foot.
2. When approaching the sink, you *first* pull down the paper towel.
3. Wash hands thoroughly with a lot of soap and water for at least twenty seconds.
4. While water is still running, grab for that paper towel, dry hands completely.
5. Turn faucet off with the same towel, keep that towel so you can open the door with it—then throw it out.

Do you know I haven’t had a cold in the longest time? I even hold anti-bacterial gel in my purse, just in case you go into one of those public bathrooms where the soap is empty and all you have is a faucet and a dream. This local bar has a BAR of soap. That’s like me seeing the Chainsaw Massacre himself! I can already hear the dramatic music in the background as I enter this bathroom and see it there—with all its soap scum bubbles; waiting for me to pick it up and lather myself with all its germs it has to offer. Ugh!!!!!

“Want some?” Madelene asks as she slides the bowl of pretzels down the bar to me.
“Hell no Mad! Are you crazy? Do you know how many hands went in there?” I say to her as if the world was coming to an end.
Mad says to me, “Lo que no mata engorda” Which means, “What won’t kill you, will make you fat.”
Geez! Please do not wish that upon me since I have been putting on a few pounds. She says it every time I disagree with her eating something that other people have been touching prior to her. Even if a fly were to dive into my wine, she would say the same thing! “Lo que no mata engorda!”
She has literally said that so many times, that I gained weight from it!
“Stop saying that!!!!" I say to her while my pants are feeling quite snug.

Another nightmare of my issues is the floor. We have hard-wooden floors, which are very easy to clean, oppose to a carpet. The thought of guests, family, even Madelene and myself walking around barefoot or even with shoes, my process of thinking immediately switches to clean-mode. The itching feeling of grabbing that swifter has become a constant, nagging instinct.

“Oh taste this drink---it’s soooo good!” A friend will say as she just tried the wackiest martini they had on their list of drinks.
“Ah, thank you—I’m good though, it doesn’t miss well with my wine…” I reply.

Done.

Is this something I should get treated for? Do you think I have OCD? I haven’t been professionally diagnosed by a doctor, but I feel in some cases, why can’t I just relax and be like everyone else--take sips from other people’s experimental martinis, take a bite out of my partner’s sandwich, or simply, letting someone sip out of my own glass?

Is cleanliness close to holiness? I think not. I think it’s close to craziness...

Happy 40th Sis!

“Impulse day, Carla!” I said to my sister who was feeling a bit run down from work. She came over, looked exhausted from her job as a real estate broker, and collapsed on the couch. Complaints ranged from, ‘that b*tch in the office’ to the ‘cheapskate customer who wants a house for nothing.’ Her job is demanding, so a lot of leisure time is needed for my sis. I try to provide that for her, if she lets me. She runs around all day with her cell phone attached to her ear 24/7, the speaker phone direct connect bleeping with tons of different voices spewing out loud, from co-workers to demanding customers who want answers now.
“I drove all f*cking day with their damn kids in the back screaming bloody murder with their muddy shoes all over my leather seats!” Carla rants as she melts into the sofa.
“You need an impulse day Carla…I say we go to the mall, go shopping, and grab a few cocktails afterwards.” I said to her thinking she would automatically rule that out.
“Let’s go.” Carla said.
Hundreds of dollars spent in department stores, an array of perfumes sprayed and purchased while smelling like cheap whores, to clothes bought for therapeutic purposes and a few cocktails to wash down the rest of our guilt for the shopping spree gone wild.
“Feel better?” I asked as she was sucking up the last of her bloody mary through a large straw.
“Ah, definitely. We gotta do this more often, Deb!”

I can rely on the breaking point of Carla’s stressful days, to take advantage of hanging out with her. Once she has had a few wines, relaxed, and finally settled down to forget about work, we always have the best times. Carla and I are very much alike. We have the same temper, we both get anxiety attacks when under pressure, and we give our significant others a piece of our mind when it’s due. She has a man that can withstand her wrath, and I have a woman who knows how to handle the explosive episodes that I can dish out.

Madelene and I were just getting back from grabbing a few things at the super market. Carla comes rushing over in a panic.
“Come on, let’s get something to eat and have a few drinks.” Carla suggested.
I knew right away Carla had a day from hell. Sitting in an open house, waiting for curious customers with no intentions of buying the house, in 95 degree heat, she was fed up.
“I can’t stand these f*cking people! They come in asking a ton of questions wasting my f*cking time, and then leave!"
If I would have known that she was PMSing, I would have brought the big guns out, but she suggested some wine and appetizers. It was her call that evening.

Nothing like a few bottles of wine to loosen you up; we were all happy and content. Sitting out on the deck, enjoying the warm summer breeze, overlooking the lake, I pick up and run like a lunatic because of the bee that was chasing me. I am deathly afraid of bees—in the blog, “My Pathetic Phobias” you can see how my fear of bees has made me appear quite insane many times. This bee wasn’t normal. It had an agenda. It was after me. My name, “Debra”, means ‘Queen Bee”---so my mother cursed me for life. I attract all bees—of any kind. This made Carla laugh, because she thinks I’m a complete nut. Both Carla and Madelene sit there, laughing, not even budging—watching me bug out over this bee.

This Sunday is Carla’s 40th birthday. We plan to go out again, but ‘indoors’ this time, so I’m safe. It’s a special day which I want to celebrate, because Carla isn’t just my sister, but she is a true friend of mine. We always had fun when we go out, and she is always there when I need her. I can count on her for anything, she is the most thoughtful and most giving person; and as complicated and complex as she can be, I can relate, because she is ‘me’.

Happy birthday Carla, I love you!

Cliches and Platitudes

“I gotta see a man about a horse, I’ll be right back.” My friend Lisa says, as she charges straight for the bathroom.
Sitting at the bar alone now, waiting for Lisa’s return, I slowly sip my red wine and make small talk with the bartender at my favorite Italian restaurant. I can vaguely see from the corner of my eye, the local regular that comes into the establishment like clockwork looking at me; as if waiting for me to glance over so he can start a conversation with me. I made a conscious effort not to look in his direction, yet I felt his eyes, like two little laser beams attacking my every move.
“Oh lovely.” I thought to myself as I can see that he is now making his way over to the corner of the bar, where I was sitting. As I hear him taking a deep breath, his arms go around my chair as well as Lisa’s empty chair. He let’s out a sigh, as well as his bad case of halitosis. His breath invaded my space; offended me and somehow raped me. I felt violated.
“You knoooow Debbie, you are sooo sexy. Do you know that?” He says with each slurred word coming out of that yuck mouth. The sad part was, I saw him pop a piece of mint-flavored gum before he approached me. The halitosis won the battle obviously.
Trying not to gag over his dung-like breath, I turned to him and said, ”I’m sure your wife would love to hear that once in a while. If you’ll excuse me, I’m too sober to talk to you right now, but I appreciate the compliment.”

I slid back to my regular position and reached for my wine glass.
“You knooooooow—I can appreciate the beauty of another woman even though I’m married.”
“Fine. Then do it quietly.” I replied; not even turning to look his way. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. The toxic fumes that were spewing from his mouth were just too much. This man needed serious oral health tips.

Lisa walked over, to see this man slouched over my chair trying to get me to understand the concept of a man looking at a woman. Eyebrows crunched and darting over to where Johnny boy and I were, I knew Lisa had many questions to this encounter. John quickly left as if he had seen a ghost; or his parole officer.
“Don’t ask.” I just sat there trying not to inhale the rest of the halitosis air that was still lingering in my general area.
Lisa starts laughing and shaking her head.
“Only you! Ha-ha-ha-ha! What was that all about?” She asked.
“Fricken men and their bad attempts to have extra marital affairs.”
“The grass is greener in other pastures, I guess.” She rambles on with her clichés. Even though, as much as I hate clichés, I loved every one that came out of Lisa’s mouth-- because it was so entertaining just to make fun of her.

Lisa and I always made it a habit to ‘break up the work week’, even though it was usually on a Tuesday. We would go out after work, have dinner and a few cocktails and laugh our butts off. We always had fun. She helped me through some rough times when I was going through my break up with my ex-girlfriend. She always hopped in her car, drove one hour to come and take me out, just to cheer me up.

“When you get lemons, make lemonade.”

“Will you STOP with the damn clichés!” As I laughed at her attempt to make me chuckle. Her way of cheering me up is to cliché me to death! I don’t know what I’d do without her. I guess you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, OR you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink it. Oh no, I’m infected with this cliché disease!

Swirling her cabernet in that big fishbowl-like goblet, she flirts with the idea of almost spilling her wine on my white blouse.
“Lisa! Stop! You’re going to one day spill that!” I said in a panicky tone as if she was a child.
“I have this down to an art Deb. They do it on cooking shows, and there’s an art to it. It gives off the full aroma and taste of the wine if you swirl.” She explains in her most sophisticated voice.
I refused to attempt it. It only meant taking a trip to the dry cleaners for me, which was a chore in itself. We always had that debate. Why is going to the dry cleaners a chore, if they’re the ones cleaning your clothes?

I’ll explain...

First of all, I want to just let you know I have a sister who goes to the same dry cleaning man. We somewhat have similar features, to him, we’re twins. To make this even more confusing, my girlfriend Madelene goes in there as well, and she somewhat looks like us too, but in this case, it’s my clothes she brings in as well. The nice Korean man always gets confused. Madelene, my girlfriend was in the Navy, so she would get all her Navy uniforms cleaned and pressed a certain way. She had to have her uniforms pressed sideways, where as I needed my dress pants pressed the opposite way, so that I would get a crease in the middle of the pant leg. He mixed it up all the time. Poor guy didn’t know the difference between us. I’d walk in, he’d pop out of the clothing jungle of hanging garments and say, “Knobby! Knobby! Yes, yes! Knobby, right?”
“It’s under Debbie.” I say to him very respectfully.
“Ah, but knobby, right? He asks again.
“Yeah.” I didn’t know what else to say- I just ‘yessed’ him. That is so rude on my part, but I didn’t want to go back and forth with this knobby crap. I want my clothes!
After receiving my clothes, going home to find out all my dress slacks were pressed flat with no crease, I got upset to only bring them back and ask him kindly if he could press them the other way.

I come home that evening, I asked Madelene, “This guy calls me knobby every time I walk in his shop, what gives?”
“He means Navy…”
“Ohhhh! That’s why he creases my clothes that way!” I felt horrible.

Needless to say, this is why Lisa makes fun of me because I always complain about going to the dry cleaners. It is definitely a chore. Now that we both understand one another, I don’t get called knobby anymore, and I have piece of mind knowing that my pants have the appropriate creases.

“Slow like molasses in January to get your clothes back from the dry cleaners.” Lisa pokes fun.

“Here drink this.” I hand Lisa a bloody mary.
“Deb, I said I needed Motrin.” Lisa replies as if I didn’t hear her.
“I know, drink that, it’ll work better.”
“Deb, I don’t even like tomato juice.”
“I know, but you will…drink it.” I said to her as if her opinion didn’t matter.
We sat there, outside on a beautiful July morning, sipping bloody marys to get rid of our hangovers.
“You’re stubborn as a mule sometimes Deb…but I’ll drink it.” She says grudgingly.

Going over the evening events from last night, we were chuckling over what people did the night before that baffled the hell out of us. We always made sure that we went over the evening, in case one of us blacked out, yet didn’t know it. The night before we went to a local Irish pub that held Kareoke night. Both dressed up as if we just got out of the office, we sat at the bar after dinner to enjoy a nice glass of cabernet. Lisa was quite the fish out of water in this place. People were walking in with cowboy hats, boots with spurs, men with long gray braids, and women who haven’t cut their hair in a ~dog’s age.~ Yes, sue me-- I am using clichés because of this wench!

Jeff, the Kareoke man saw us sitting there, quiet, sipping our wine, scoping out the place to see if this is our settling point, or if we should venture out to another bar.
“This is phase one girls!” Jeff screams out to let us know that it will get better.
“Phase two is when you start tapping your feet and laughing at the people who are singing….Phase three is when you’re finally drunk and you’re up here singing. It’ll happen. Believe me. I do this all the time girls.” He says convincingly enough.
“Hmm, okay, we’ll give it a shot, right?" Lisa says, as she chuckles over Jeff's comment. She said he reminded her of those little emoticons used in e-mails. His facial expressions were so comical.

It eventually comes to the point where Lisa gets up and sings a song. I cheer her on and clap, as well as hoot and howl like a complete drunk wolf in fine clothing.
“Love!........ Love will keep us together…think of me baby whenever….” She starts singing.
“You gotta be kidding…not this song…Oh Lisa…” I cheered her on and clapped loudly when she was done. She was good, don’t get me wrong, but I needed something more in ‘this day in age’.

“You know, we should be drinking those black and tans that you like Deb. It’s only appropriate.” Lisa points out as she is feeling left out, drinking fine wine in a beautiful suit, while others are sporting ripped jeans holding a pint of stout beer.
We ended up drinking plenty of black and tans that evening.

“Wow! It works Deb! This bloody mary is terrific! It made me feel 100% better! I cannot get over this! I want another one!" Lisa said.
“I know, stick with me kid…”


Don’t make waves, just drink the juice!...

Breast Cancer Scare

One Sunday morning as I woke up, I stretched and laid there for a while longer. I must have slept wrong because my left side of my chest was achy. I went to massage the upper part of my chest, but realized there was this lump on the top part of my breast that exceeded into my upper chest. This alarmed me. I never felt this lump before. Could it be a gland of some sort? Could it possibly be a cyst? There wasn’t anything on the other side that matched what I found on my left side. Maybe I strained a muscle from working out I thought. I wouldn’t allow thoughts of the worse to enter my head, I just kept saying to myself, “I had a good workout yesterday,” and left it at that. I headed off to the shower so I could wake up a bit and head out for the day. As I was in the shower, I noticed this lump even more-so. Now thoughts started filling my mind with grim ideas of what it could be. It was during the Christmas holiday and I didn’t want to alarm anyone just yet. I called the doctor, made an appointment and headed off to see him the following day.

As I sat there in his office, the nurse practitioner walked in with a big smile and greeted me warmly. She asked what was going on, I told her about my lump and that it scared me so I wanted to get it checked out. She had me put on this paper-like gown so she can examine me without any restrictions of my blouse. I laid there on the table as her hand was feeling for any abnormalities. As she started going clockwise around my breast, she stopped at the spot I was concerned with. Her fingers stalling at that very spot made my heart sink, I knew she found it. It wasn’t just ‘in my head’ as everyone around me would say. “Oh you’re such a hypochondriac!” I detested that word because a lot of people would describe me as that. My psychiatrist would tell me, “Well you know, hypochondria isn’t such a bad thing, people tend to live longer because they go for more check ups.” That statement didn’t sit well with me either. So I’ll live the rest of my life fearing the worse and sitting on a sheet of paper on the doctor’s table waiting for the “Okay you can live again” response? No, this is not how I want to live life. I refuse to believe that I’m a hypochondriac… Maybe I’ll just be one of those closeted ones. Is it so bad to check out something that doesn’t feel normal on your body? One of the main reasons I have this problem is due to my parents hating doctors. They feel as if you’re looking for problems when you go and check something out. They think it’s ‘all a business’.

To me, early detection of something fatal can be your only chance of surviving. I used to say to my mother, “Ah, I’m having chest pains ma!” Her response would always be the same no matter how bad the pain was, It’s just gas.” She would then hand me a seltzer or something bubbly to ease my gas pains. I could have been in cardiac arrest for all she knew, so she solves it with soda. Usually the case was I did have chest pains due to gas- stomach upset due to acid; still—never take chances when there is a pain in your chest. I guess she knew I had anxiety disorder and chucked it up to stress. I know that she loves me a lot but just doesn’t want to even grasp the thought of something horrible happening to me, so she chucks everything up to ‘gas’. Now that I had this lump, and the nurse noticed it too, she brought the doctor in. The doctor came in, held my hand because he knew how important of an issue this is with women. I felt his empathy as he held my hand and started talking to me about how Lucy Ball from “I Love Lucy” had an episode where she got into a modeling shoot due to wearing a paper-like gown from the doctor’s office. He was trying to comfort me by making me laugh and getting my mind off what was going on. I can see the nurse looking at him as if he has done this one too many times. I was trying to pay attention to his story, but all I can see were his lips moving, but bits and pieces of his story were heard. I was too concerned about his findings. He then started going clockwise on my left breast to double check what the nurse found and what I claimed was there. I has he moved his hand, I felt it stop to where the nurse’s hand stopped. It’s true. There’s something there. He stopped. Now he was trying to move it around. He started going to the other side and stopped there as well.

He said he found a ‘mass’ and a lump. This meant I had two lumps! He explained to me that he was referring me to a radiology clinic so they can perform a mammogram and ultrasound test on me. The words came out of his mouth and I disconnected from the whole entire conversation after that. My body shut down mentally and I didn’t hear a word what they were saying anymore. I got up, got dressed, and headed off to the front counter to get my referral slip for the clinic. The nurse at the counter kept saying, “Make sure that you tell the clinic that we found a mass and a lump and we need both a mammogram and ultrasound. They look down on women who go in there under the age of thirty-five years old.” I was numb. I didn’t hear anything as she was explaining what I should do. I walked out of there feeling alone and almost dead. I thought this was the beginning of the end of my life. As I was in my car, I headed off to the local bar/restaurant where I was going to have dinner with my friend. I ordered a beer and got some soup. We were talking about what happened at the doctor’s office. I didn’t feel any anxiety really, I was numb. My body was going through a self-defense mode. As I was eating my soup, I was noticing that I was unable to swallow. I was choking over soup. How does anyone choke over soup? Each spoonful was the same! I kept choking because my throat was closing up due to anxiety. I then went into a full-fledge anxiety attack. I had to go. I left in a hurry, the owner who I am friends with asked, “Leaving so soon?” I paid my tab and told her that I had an appointment that I forgot about.

While driving home, tears streamed down my face, scared about leaving my family and friends behind. I was scared of going through chemotherapy, scared of losing my hair, scared of the pain and agony of cancer and scared of what my family would go through. It was way too soon for these thoughts to come rushing in my mind, but it was all too real as well. I came home, got into my pajamas and climbed into bed. I was so tired from the mental stress of the news that I received that I slept for twelve hours that evening. My body was telling me that it didn’t want to cope with this. It was an avoidance thing that my body needed to do at that time or I would have gone into another anxiety mode and been awake all night. When I get anxiety attacks, it usually wears me out due to the mental and physical repercussions it has on the body. It takes some toll. I went into a deep sleep that night.

The next day I woke up, I noticed that the lump was still there…just to remind me that ‘I may be sick.’ I called my best friend to tell her what the doctor had found and she was quite worried. Her mother had this scare once and it turned out to be cysts. She had to get them removed surgically. I didn’t even know if I was ready for a surgery type of procedure either. I was just scared about the whole situation. My friend went to St. Patrick’s Cathedral and lit a candle for me, and said a prayer. I was very thankful. I went to turn on the television and I was watching a sermon on the Christian channel. The words that spoke out to me were ‘trust and dream’. I kept hearing these words all day. After the third time of hearing these words, I knew it was confirmation that God was speaking to me. I didn’t know how to mingle these words together, but I needed to remember them. I got on my computer and got an e-mail from a person I never met before! She had gone on my photography website that I have had up for some time now and told me how much she loved my photography and wanted the pricing of a photo that she was interested in. On the bottom of her e-mail she had a signature that read this:

Matthew 28:20 And be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age.

This comforted me a great deal. I took this as a sign that God was trying to talk to me. I needed to notice this. He speaks to me through scripture mostly. Sometimes it’s something off the television or just something that someone says. The key is, being open to these signs or you can easily miss them. After reading that scripture, I knew what the word ‘trust’ meant. To me, He was telling me, whether or not I was sick, to trust Him anyway. He sees the ‘big picture’. To me the message meant that I needed to trust him whether sick or not and to rely on Him more-so if I was in fact sick; to not give up on my faith. I prayed, and asked God to heal me if I am sick, to take away my anxiety and comfort me. I told him that if I am sick, to please not leave me. I trust that He knows what he’s doing. I know that everything happens for a reason and I needed to be patient and go through whatever it is He calls me to. I drew closer to Him and noticed that I needed to appreciate the people in my life more, appreciate what I have more, and to live life more as if it were my last day. To me, that statement is hard. What would I do on my last day on earth? I don’t want to go bungee jumping, I have no desire to go skydiving, and I certainly don’t want to go mountain climbing. I know people say they would do this if it were their last day here on earth, but to me, I would eat the most fattening foods, my favorite wines, spend time with my family and my closest friends and enjoy every moment. I would have a party and focus on the people I love the most.

I told a few of my friends about what the doctor found and they said some kind words, said prayers for me and wished me well. They were all so supportive. Even my friends that were across the country wished me well and gave me their support. My friend in Chicago sent me a scripture that meant a lot to me. It was confusing at first because I didn’t know how to apply this to my own situation, but it made a lot of sense when I reread it.

Proverbs 16:24 Kind words are like honey—sweet for the soul and healthy for the body.

To me, all the prayers from my friends and loved ones, all the warm wishes from people who were concerned and tried comforting me, healed my body. In the King James version of this proverb, it says, “Pleasant words are as a honeycomb, sweet to the soul, and health to the bones.” The positive words that people say produce a positive outcome. Prayers are so powerful that people don’t understand the depth of how much prayer can help someone. It is the greatest gift you can offer when someone is going through something. I’d rather prayers then ‘get well’ balloons any day. By this time, my feeling towards this whole ordeal has changed from a negative to more of a positive experience although I was still quite scared. Four days before New Year’s Eve I went to get my mammogram and ultrasound tests done. I sat there and waited for a few minutes when the technician called me in to examine me. She was abrupt and very curt. “Come in this waiting room, strip from your waist up and put on a pink gown and I’ll be in to examine you in a few minutes.” She said in a very stern voice. She walked out and I went in the small dressing room to put this pretty pink gown on, it was a neat sort of lavender-pinkish color. I walked out of the dressing room into this beautifully decorated waiting room for women only. The mammogram machines were in other rooms, but this waiting room was designed for women getting their exams.

As I sat there waiting, I was cold and very nervous. I felt my chest getting very heavy and felt my heart beating a bit faster. The door opens, and another nurse walks in with this Spanish lady getting her exam done. She had to do the same drill as I did. When she went to sit down and fill out her papers, she looked up at me and said, “Don’t I know you?” in a thick Spanish accent. I wasn’t sure as I looked up at her and then recognized her accent and face. I realized she used to be my nail technician two years back. She was very nice, but we had a hard time communicating since she had broken English and I hardly knew the Spanish language. We immediately started talking and surprisingly I understood everything she said, as if God opened up the lines of communication, and accent wasn’t a problem anymore. She even said some Spanish words that I understood. We both sat there with these pink gowns. She said she wasn’t nervous at all because she does this every year-- it was her annual check up. She must be in her mid forties I thought. I told her that the doctor sent me here because of what he found. My technician came in and ordered me into the examination room. As she was preparing the table and setting it up for my breast to be flat as a pancake, she looked at me and said, “I’m not going to lie to you kiddo, this is gonna hurt.” That’s all I needed to hear as my heart beat sped up a bit faster. I wanted to lighten things up so I asked her, “You guys don’t serve martinis for this gig?”
She started laughing and said, “Let me tell you, I wish they did because my job is boring as hell!”

We both chuckled for a moment and then it was time for my torture. It wasn’t as bad as people say it is, but there was discomfort. I didn’t think that my breasts could conform into a pancake, but they did… After it was done, I had to do the ultrasound. I went into another room with another technician, who set me up and started examining me with this big rod that looked like a microphone. I was trying to stare at her face as she was checking her monitor to see if there were any abnormalities. Her face was expressionless. No surprised look, no relieved look- just a cold-stoned face. I guess she could see how fast my heart is beating due to the ultrasound being on my chest. She knew I was having anxiety, yet I don’t show it on the outside. When she was done, she looked at me with this ‘secretive sort of way’ and whispered, “It looks fine.” She said this as if it was top secret information. Well, in fact it was. She could have gotten in trouble for revealing that to me, but I think she sensed my fear of the whole examination. Although she said that, she also stated that the mammogram can say something different. This left me at stage one really. I left the office feeling very icky from all the lubrication stuff that they used on me to do the ultrasound. I had cleaned up most of it, but it still was really uncomfortable. I went home, showered up and just rested for the remainder of the day. The technician said I would get the results in two days. On that last day of waiting, I was expecting a phone call from my doctor’s office with whatever sort of news he was going to give me. I called the office at 10am and got the receptionist.

“Hi I’m just calling for my results to see if they’re in from the radiology clinic.” I asked in a nervous tone.
“We have them here, but the doctor needs to get done with his clients and he will call you as soon as possible, I can’t reveal those test results to you at this time.”
The receptionist said as she sounded as if she needed to get off the phone and handle other patients. I watched the clock practically all day. Twelve noon came, and went…2pm came and went…I was finally getting upset. It must be bad! It must be news that they are hesitant to give me! I started to panic. I called them four times to see if the doctor was ready to tell me. I kept getting the same receptionist and she said, “We are overwhelmed with people due to the holidays and the flu shots, so when he gets a minute he will call you, I can’t disclose this information with you because it’s against the law.” I sat there after I hung up the phone and felt sort of numb, but understood her position as well. I went under the covers of my bed and thought to myself that I am not getting out of this bed until I hear good news. I was being very stubborn and decided that I was going to remain in this bed because I couldn’t handle the stress of waiting. I somehow couldn’t sleep though, I got very fidgety. I got up to walk in the living room. I started praying to God. I prayed for a long time. I asked Him for another chance, to please have the news be good. So I opened up the bible. The first scripture that came out to me was:

Nahum 1:15 Look! A messenger is coming over the mountains with good news! He is bringing a message of peace.

My heart felt as if weight had been lifted off it. I knew God was telling me the results of my tests. I trusted that it was God speaking to me, and I dreamed that it was God talking to me. Trust and dream; the two words that God has been throwing my way. Instead of throwing myself into my bed, I got up and headed for the shower, to get ready and celebrate the good news. I knew that it was going to be good, because I trusted in God. It was almost as if the doctor called me with the results.

At 5pm I got a phone call, after I was all dolled up and ready to go out with my friend. The nurse called to tell me that my test results were normal. Normal? Negative. Nothing was wrong with me. I was fine! I thanked God for the good news…I was so happy! I felt as if I had my life back again. I can now ‘dream’. I was relieved of all the anxiety that came upon me during that waiting period. I opened the bible up again as I was praying and this scripture jumped out at me:

Luke 10:19 And I have given you authority over all the power of the enemy, and you can walk among snakes and scorpions and crush them, Nothing will injure you.

Thank you God!

Job 11:18 You will have courage because you will have hope. You will be protected and will rest in safety.

In the time I was worrying about my health and fearing the worse, I failed to realize that God was with me the whole time. I focused mostly on my surroundings and my family. My fear overwhelmed me; thoughts of what death would be like or even worse—what being terminally ill would be like. To me, getting sick was my worse fear.

Romans 8:10-11 Since Christ lives within you, even though your body will die because of sin, your spirit is alive because you have been made right with God. The Spirit of God, who raised Jesus form the dead, lives in you. And just as he raised Christ from the dead, he will give life to your mortal body by this same Spirit living within you.

You can interpret this scripture in a few ways. In ‘my’ interpretation, it means that death is not the end. Death is just our outer shell retiring. The only factor that was unsettling in my mind was leaving the people I loved. I do believe that time in heaven is shortened; where as one year to us, would be equivalent to ten minutes in heaven... So then, why would I worry so much about leaving my loved ones? I guess a lot has to due with having 100% faith; not 50%, not 97%, but without a doubt 100%. Even some of our pastors, priests and nuns may have only 90% faith. I guess it goes with the conflict of science and religion, earthly things vs. spirituality and words that may influence your thinking. Again, if you are distant with God, your faith can dwindle a bit because you don’t ‘see’ Him, or hear His words so clearly (in whatever form He talks to you)…

When the relationship becomes closer to God, that’s when faith and belief becomes much stronger. It’s also the same with having faith that God will help you. I somewhat believed that God would pull me out of this, but I also knew that sometimes God does things in mysterious ways, so whatever the result was, I had to trust Him that He knows best. I prayed and prayed for His help to get positive results…but my faith that it would happen wasn’t certain.

John 5:14 And we can be confident that he will listen to us whenever we ask him for anything in like with his will. And if we know he is listening when we make our requests, we can be sure that he will give us what we ask for.

John 14:12-14 The truth is, anyone who believes in me will do the same works I have done, and even greater works, because I an going to be with the Father. You can ask for anything in my name, and I will do it, because the work of the Son brings glory to the Father. Yes, ask anything in my name, and I will do it!

So now, Jesus says this to us, and yet we only have less than 100% faith? This is almost an insult to God as though you doubt His words. I had to go in with 100% faith.

It’s almost like baseball. Baseball you ask? Yes, in fact the analogy came to me while praying about this. Jesus is the King of analogies in the book of John—sometimes I really have to sit and think about it for moment before I can truly grasp it. Think about it, if the batter is up waiting for the pitcher to throw is best curve ball and the batter hits it with all his might—the ball goes flying out of the stadium then it’s a homerun, right? This means he has automatically won a point. The winning is there, already given, done, completed and defeated; however the batter must walk the bases still. He can take his sweet time walking those bases because no one can take him ‘out’ again. His homerun is already promised. Same holds true for us when we ask God for something. We need to know that it has already been given to us; we just need to go through the ‘bases’ so to speak and come back to the ‘home’ plate. If God brings you to it, He will get you through it, you just have to be willing to walk and trust in Him. He has already given us the gift of being saved. Now the devil can try to discourage you from walking the bases and let you remain in doubt—and walk back into the dugout. So with that automatic win- with no one to take you ‘out’ of the game, you have given up! The devil can put some horrible thoughts in your head that can make you absolutely physically sick. Remember, you defeated the devil already by believing in God. The work has already been done through Christ’s sacrifice and your belief in Him. You have officially made a homerun! Congratulations!

Years Go By

Sitting in the family living room watching T.V. at the age of thirteen, I can recall my mother and her best friend Karen sitting at the table, having coffee and talking. They would laugh and talk about the people they knew, talk about their past and about funny events that had happened in their lives. I used to think to myself, “Wow, I could never see myself being that age—seems so boring.” My mother was forty-five years old at that time, and her best friend was thirty years old. Even at the age of thirty, I thought this lady was older than the hills. The fact that her hair turned gray at the age of twenty-five may have influenced my thoughts somewhat. Nevertheless, I still couldn’t fathom the thought of being her age, sitting with my best friend, talking over coffee. They would sit there for hours talking; I just couldn’t understand it.

I remember my sixteenth birthday. February 4th, 1990, I was so excited because I knew for sure there was some sort of surprise for me, possibly a party that was being held a secret. Those thoughts quickly vanished with the horrible snow and ice storm that came my way. I knew even if there was a party to be held, it would have been canceled due to the mountain I lived on. Our driveway was a complete cyclone in the winter. As I watched the snow fall rapidly, then eventually turning into ice, tears started flowing because it was now approaching 8pm. Isn’t your sweet sixteen supposed to be a huge bash? It wasn’t for me that day. My mother came in my room, gave me a card from her and dad, (usually dad never even saw the card—his name was always forged) but it promised me a dinner at Mt. Fuji, my favorite restaurant for sushi for later that week. Today I would have appreciated that offer more than any present, but back then, I wanted my friends to be there celebrating my birthday with me. That evening, I sat in my room as the snow fell, crying selfishly. I had my own sixteenth pity party.

It was February 3rd, 1995 on a Friday evening. At 12 midnight, I would turn twenty-one years old. It was one year that Madelene and I have been dating. I always used a fake id to get into one of my favorite clubs nearby. They finally put a stop to it when I turned twenty, and I always tried to sneak in; sometimes succeeded, sometimes not. As I walked up to the bouncer who knew my face so well, I showed him something he has never seen before. My *real* driver’s license, not my sister’s old expired one that I always pulled out. He looked at it carefully. He looked at me, and then looked back down at the license.
“You gotta be kidding! You’re going to be legal in about one hour! Guess what time I’ll let you in?” He said as he smiled at me knowing he couldn’t let me in just yet.
I waited. This was important to me. I needed to be there on my birthday. All my friends were older than me, and were all having a good time inside. I sat outside the club near the railings for one hour hanging out with my friends and talking with Madelene. 11:59pm rolled around, and my face was back at the door. I was officially in--- legally! This was a special mark in my life. We quickly headed off to the bar area to replenish our fading buzz that we had before we got there. I remember even my friends that I went to school with were there, coincidentally even two of my ex-boyfriends who I dated back in high school were celebrating with us. They all bought me drinks, and when the big Budweiser clock on the wall behind the bartender showed “12:00”, we all did Tequila shots at the same time. I was a happy girl that evening. I was one ossified girl that night!

I still couldn’t comprehend the fact that now I was in my twenties. I always imagined if I had the choice to be any age forever, it would definitely be twenty-five. How perfect?--You’re still ‘young’, yet an adult; young enough to still make stupid choices, but old enough to be taken seriously. In those years, Madelene and I set up a little place of our own; we got a condo in a nearby town. We had our own place! This was a huge step for me. I was scared, excited, and sad at the same time; sad to leave the nest, and excited about starting my life as an adult; as Madelene’s partner. Our first year of living together was a rough start, but we had a lot of fun for the most part. It was quite the learning experience. She was well into her thirties, and for me, that was still a scary thought, to just turn thirty.

February 4th, 2004, was my thirtieth birthday. How I tried so hard to drag twenty-nine out, but it left me quicker than I knew. I was my mother’s best friend’s age. The age I thought where all humans reach that plateau of the eternal land of Boringville. The night before, my best friend Lisa said she was going to take me out for my birthday, along with another good friend Kim, to my favorite restaurant to celebrate. As I was talking to Lisa on the phone, she sounded a bit occupied.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Oh you are never going to guess in a million years, so don’t even try to figure it out Deb.” She said in this suspicious tone as she chuckled her way out of it.

The next day, on my birthday, Lisa and Kim came over at 7pm. Madelene and I were all ready and looking forward to this evening. As I opened the door, Lisa and Kim gave me a kiss and a hug, and proceeded to go inside my living room. They had a big bag along with them. I had to open it before we went out they said. The first couple of presents were bottles of good wines and candles, which they knew I loved & appreciated. Then they presented me with ‘thee’ gift.
Homemade chocolate…….ready?.........Homemade chocolate breasts! Yes, somehow, they managed to get their paws on a mold that conformed the chocolate to breasts. Lovely. How does one eat this treat? It would hurt to even think about biting into it. We laughed hysterically and took some pictures of my prize. (The picture is a bit fuzzy--I apologize for that--but you can kind of make out the chocolate tatas...)

We all headed in the car and drove off to my favorite restaurant. Surprisingly enough, my other close friend Tamar stopped in—even canceled her important meeting so she can be with me on my special day. I was so happy; all my close friends with me in one place. It was more than what I could even ask for. That evening, I knew that my thirties were going to be full of wonderful days ahead. It was the best birthday I ever had.

I guess sometimes we emphasize a lot on age. We fear our twenties, to only fear our thirties, and then to eventually fear our forties. Come to think of it, I think I’m even going to enjoy my forties even moreso. I want to be that person who turns seventy years old, holding my favorite cocktail at a fine country club, enjoying friends, family and good food. Never let age make you old. Age is but a number, and we should enjoy life no matter how many years pass by---and believe me, they pass by quickly.

PMS...Need I Say More?

Crouched over in fetal position, sandwiching a pillow between my lower stomach and legs, I sit watching movies to try and take my mind over the excruciating pain. 800mgs of Ibuprofens is not enough to battle this beast. Rocking in place, like a mental patient in an insane asylum, I groan with misery wishing I was born a different gender, cursing at Eve for eating that forbidden apple, and craving the most delicious, juicy Porterhouse steak I can get my hands on.
“Madelene----- please, please get a t-bone steak or filet mignon, and a really good bottle of pinot noire—any red wine at this point. Oh, and don’t forget the heated therma pads! Thanks sweetie.” I say in the most desperate voice.

All my body craves at this time of month is red meat and red wine. Anything red will do. Everything is ‘red’ this time of month. It’s not only my food and wine, it’s my temper. I flare up like a wild hemorrhoid that you can’t get rid of. Luckily, I’m a brunette, or I would have yet another ‘red’ reason for my temper.

A box of tissue, a cup of tea with honey, and a huge goose down pillow with a blanket, I sit and watch Lifetime movies all day on my big screen plasma T.V. My tears run wild over the wife who just found out her husband was unfaithful, to the story of a mom who lost her son due to a brutal kidnapping, or to a teenager who lost her first true love. I need to know that things are much worse than sitting here with period cramps. I need to know there are other types of miseries out there that are worse than mine. The best is just simply watching court T.V.---that alone makes you feel 100% better. Is it true what they say- that misery loves company? Why can’t we accept our own misery? We rely on other people to relate to us, in a negative aspect sometimes. Is this the reason I don’t have a conventional type of career that enables me to work a full forty hour week in an office cubical? I would literally take one day a month off, due to my period cramps. My focus went down the drain, my pain so intense that I couldn’t even speak. It's debilitating! A lot of women are much like me, where you physically cannot perform your daily duties due to this monthly monster.

Feminist groups and women’s rights organizations screwed us royally. In my opinion, I think women should take off a full week each month due to their ancestor Eve. It should be called, “Eve’s Holiday.” I declare it! Some women suffer more than others, nevertheless, we all suffer. From the antagonizing pain, to the dull aches that last throughout the day, to the hormones that run wild like wild fire, threatening all who’s in her path. Think about this fact…and don’t debate me on this because I’m already in a bad mood. Why do you think there are no female presidents? God forbid we are at odds with another country ie: Iraq or Russia…and Mrs. President decides, “Nuke em’ all!” (Due to her menstrual hormonal tempest) The world would be history--armageddon as we know it.

The tortures of womanhood go beyond just cramps and bad moods. We have to be careful of what we wear during this time. My girlfriend just got an operation due to her fibroid tumors. A lot of women get this in their late thirties and well into their forties. Some say it’s a sign of pre-menopause. She woke up in a pool of blood, and I thought she was hemorrhaging! Is this what I have to look forward to in my future?

To all the men who are reading this blog, think about this for a split second or two…What if, once a month for a full week, blood came gushing out of your penis? Very disgusting thought for all---I apologize for this imagery, but I am trying to make a point. Still with me guys? Okay, good… Then on top of your bloody penis, (and I am not trying to attempt British slang here) you have to wear some sort of diaper on it, a sanitary napkin—if you will-- so that you won’t have blood seeping from your pants. Now you have yet another problem….CrAmPs! This can be a dull, constant ache, to a severe “OH HELP ME GOD” type of pain; as if you were giving birth to a child. Wouldn’t you call in every month from your job saying, “Ugh, I think I have a stomach virus…not going to make it in today?” Believe me, if you are not married or you don’t realize what women go through during this time of month, be certain that the next time a woman screams her head off at you, or if some woman just ripped you a new a-hole for the smallest thing at your place of work, remember, it’s the beast within, that stirs inside that hormonal river. Do not attempt to ride these rapids, stay far, far away my friend.

You're Gay--and Christian Too???

For those who have e-mailed me with questions regarding my faith in God while living a homosexual lifestyle, I am giving you an excerpt from my book that I wrote. Maybe this will explain more in detail of why I believe that "God loves all of us" regardless of our preference in gender in a relationship.

PLEASE BE FOREWARNED THAT THIS MATERIAL MAY BE CONTROVERSIAL AND OFFENSIVE TO THOSE WHO DO NOT HOLD THE SAME BELIEFS AND/OR OPINIONS!

I do want to make it a point that a church nearby to where I live, has accepted gays and lesbians to get married in their house of worship. Rev. Cowing stated, "We treat them like people of worth and welcome them to be a part of our community." The United Church of Christ has welcomed us. Rev. Cowing explains the opposing view of the bible's teachings. The church has backed its resolution on same-sex marriage with theological and Biblical evidence. He says that the passages condemning homosexuality are from Books 3 and 5, Leviticus and Deuteronomy. These books apply to Judiasm and are part of the Torah.

Here is an excerpt of my book that I want to share with you regarding this topic...Please keep in mind that these are "MY BELIEFS", I do not want to impose or influence you with my faith in Christianity.

"Out With the Old and In With the New"

Did you ever wonder why they call the Old Testament “old”? The reason is because it is just ‘that’. That was before Jesus came to this earth to save us. He saved us from what we would have died from; due to our sins. You have people in the church throwing scriptures at you for being gay. Most of the scriptures that they throw at you are from the Old Testament.

Leviticus 20:30 The penalty for homosexual acts is death to both parties. They have committed a detestable act and are guilty of a capital offense.

Immorality is one thing… But to love someone else is another. Anyone who is immoral and has sex with anyone due to its pleasure can be viewed at in another light. To be intimate with someone you love and care about takes on a whole new meaning. I felt years of guilt for being intimate with the person I was in love with. It’s a horrible way to live. Hopefully by you seeing my views, you can release some of that guilt that has been stored up by judgmental people, and let it go—to God. I want to list some scriptures of the book of Leviticus to you. Some of it is very shocking. There are sins in here that I didn’t even know of. The Jewish people rely on the Old Testament because they do not believe that Jesus was the Messiah. They believe Jesus was just a man who claimed to be the Messiah, or just a prophet. The New Testament is what we should rely on, because it’s our freedom.

Take a look at this:
Leviticus 11:9-12 As for marine animals, you may eat whatever has both fins and scales, whether taken from fresh water or salt water. You may not, however, eat marine animals that do not have both fins and scales. (shellfish) You are to detest them, and they will always be forbidden to you. You must never eat their meat or even touch their dead bodies. I repeat, any marine animal that does not have both fins and scales is strictly forbidden to you.

So basically what this scripture is saying to us is that we can never eat shrimp or lobster. We cannot enjoy clams, mussels or scallops. Interesting, isn’t it? This is considered to be just as “bad” as being a homosexual. My grandfather and father owned a fish market in NYC for years. I was so used to eating this way because my father would bring home seafood twice a week. We grew up on shellfish, and many people in this world eat shellfish regularly. I know many people enjoy eating ostrich, but in Leviticus 13:16- it clearly states that eating ostrich is considered detestable to all of us.

Leviticus 15:19-29 Whenever a woman has her menstrual period, she will be ceremonially unclean for seven days. If you touch her during that time, you will be defiled until evening. Anything on which she lies or sits during that time will be defiled If you touch her bed, you must wash your clothes and bathe in water, and you will remain defiled until evening. The same applies if you touch an object on which she sits, whether it is her bedding or any piece of furniture. If a man has sexual intercourse with her during this time, her menstrual impurity will be transmitted to him. He will remain defiled for seven days, and any bed on which he lies will be defiled.If the menstrual flow of blood continues for many days beyond the normal period, or if she discharges blood unrelated to her menstruation, the woman will be ceremonially unclean as long as the discharge continues. Anything on which she lies or sits during that time will be defiled, just as it would be during her normal menstrual period. If you touch her bed or anything on which she sits, you will be defiled. You will be required to wash your clothes and bathe in water, and you will remain defiled until evening.
When the woman’s menstrual discharge stops, she must count off a period of seven days. After that she will be ceremonially clean. On the eighth day, she must bring two turtledoves or two young pigeons and present them to the priest at the entrance of the Tabernacle.

(In my beliefs)
If I lived by the Old Testament alone, I would not leave my house nor have guests come over anytime during my menstrual period. A lot of people including myself get confused when the bible seems to contradict itself. If you have discernment, you should realize that the Old Testament is strictly for the time before Jesus. The Old Testament is a good tool for learning the past history of what went on in the beginning of time. The rules applied then were stricter and some things people did as a result of not obeying such rules were fatal. They would put you to death over a sin. Later on when God gave us His only son, we were all saved from the sins of this earth. There are scriptures in the Old Testament stating that if men shave their beards, it is a sin. Most of our priests and pastors are very clean-shaven. We have to take into consideration that God knows we are human. Stop with the guilt, and live a happy life that will please God.
Think about this… In the Old Testament, slavery was approved. The only difference was that they referred to them as “servants”. Regardless of how it was described throughout the Old Testament, this was undoubtedly slavery, which is an insult to mankind. They degraded people by keeping them as slaves. This is called loving others as you would love yourself? Not in my book. There are many writings in the Old Testament that don’t correlate with how we live today. There are many, many debates on this issue, and I am only trying to express my view. Love should not be a sin; sexual immorality, yes. I can agree with that. Sexual immorality promotes sexual transmitted diseases, loss of self-respect and prostitution.

Ephesians 2:19-22 So now you Gentiles are no longer strangers and foreigners. You are citizens along with all of God’s holy people. You are members of God’s family. We are his house, built on the foundation of the apostles and the prophets. And the cornerstone is Christ Jesus himself. We who believe are carefully joined together, becoming a holy temple for the Lord. Through him you Gentiles are also joined together as part of this dwelling where God lives by his Spirit.

We need to know and believe that God accepts us. There are many things within the Old Testament, as well as the New Testament, which make reference to having sexual relations with someone within your family. Yes, incest. Here is a scripture that makes strong reference to this topic:

Leviticus 18:6-21 You can never have intercourse with a close relative, for I am the Lord. Do not violate your father by having sexual intercourse with your mother. She is your mother; you must never have intercourse with her. Do not have sexual intercourse with any of your father’s wives, for this would violate your father. Do not have sexual intercourse with your sister or half sister, whether she is your father’s daughter or your mother’s daughter, whether she was brought up in the same family or somewhere else.
Do not have sexual intercourse with your granddaughter, whether your son’s daughter or your daughter’s daughter; that would violate you. Do not have sexual intercourse with the daughter of any of your father’s wives; she is your half sister. Do not have intercourse with your aunt, your father’s sister, because she is your father’s close relative. Do not have sexual intercourse with your aunt, your mother’s sister, because she is your mother’s close relative. And do not violate your uncle, your father’s brother, by having sexual intercourse with his wife; she also is your aunt. Do not have sexual intercourse with your daughter-in-law; she is your son’s wife. Do not have intercourse with your brother’s wife; this would violate your brother. Do not have sexual intercourse with both a woman and her daughter or marry both a woman and her granddaughter, whether or son’s daughter or her daughter’s daughter. They are close relatives, and to do this would be a horrible wickedness. Do not marry a woman and her sister because they will be rivals. But if your wife dies, then it is all right to marry her sister.
Do not violate a woman by having sexual intercourse with her during her period of menstrual impurity. Do not defile yourself by having sexual intercourse with your neighbor’s wife. Do not give any of your children as a sacrifice to Molech, for you must not profane the name of your God. I am the Lord.

Some Hasidim engage in inter-marriages. This is not uncommon. Hasidim interbreeding and intermarrying were to elaborate on the ‘clan’ or the ‘tribe’ of this community. The purpose of intermarrying was to preserve one’s inheritance of the family and for unity. There are communities today that still practice this. There’s more at risk here than just having your wealth shared with someone outside the family. Birth defects of babies are very common among intermarried couples. They share the same genetic material, which causes health problems and birth defects for the baby.

In my hometown, the Hasidim are the most religious people who practice their faith daily. They never work on Saturdays, they keep the Sabbath and watching televisions is unheard of and forbidden. Their clothing alone reveals to me how great their faith is in God. To wear a long black jacket in the midst of summer tells me that it’s more than just a fashion statement. This is called faith. Even though I do not agree with intermarrying due to birth defects and other health problems caused by this, I can understand their way of living. I can see that keeping their inheritance and unity within their family is sacred. So with that, I have respect for them and I do not judge them in any way. This is their way of living. So what’s my point you ask? My point is that the Old Testament is just that. All this being considered, even the Hebrews do not practice the Old Testament—even though that is their bible. Most of the entire book of Leviticus is based on the sin of intermarriages and incest.

Leviticus 18:22 Do not practice homosexuality; it is a detestable sin.

Okay, so now that we know that whoever eats shrimp, lobster, crabmeat, whoever loves someone of the same sex, whoever enjoys an elegant ostrich dinner, or sits on the couch of a woman that is menstruating, are all going straight to hell? Hmm… This is a lot to absorb, right? I can’t imagine our God saying that all mankind is going to hell. There are millions of people who eat shellfish. What about going to a female friend’s house? How can you know for sure if she is menstruating? Is she going to say to you-- “Oh no! Don’t sit on my couch! You’ll be defiled!” I’m only trying to make a point here, which is that some people do not understand the gay lifestyle, nor would they ever practice it, because it is not their way of living. The same goes with the Hasidim lifestyle, I don’t understand their way of living entirely, nor would I practice it, however I do not judge them. It is just not my way of living. Whatever lifestyle someone leads, let God be the only judge.

Playing Detective

I know ladies in uniform may sound appealing to you; however this chapter deals with another type of detective. In a relationship between two women, sometimes there could be one person in that relationship who is very insecure and at times, extremely controlling. This all has to do with insecurity issues, fear of abandonment issues as well as other underlying emotional factors that go hand-in-hand. The ingredients that make up a control freak will include-- possessiveness, ability and desire to look through their partner’s belongings, checking recent calls made and recent calls received on their cell phone, going through personal belongings as well as trying to keep up with their partner’s whereabouts. The control freak will usually make up decisions for their partner, like where they are going, when they are going, who they should be friends with as well as keeping their partner from having friends at all. It can get to the point of the woman being obsessed with checking in on her partner’s life.

There are times where they tap into e-mail addresses, look for things on their computer, and check their cookies in their computer system, also trying to see what sites they log onto. Think about it---it takes a lot of time and effort to go out of your way to merely check on another’s whereabouts, or check their e-mail, and even their cell phone to make sure that they are not cheating on you. So much negative energy is wasted in doing this. I remember, because I used to be like this... The funny thing about this is, usually there is nothing to worry about, so that person literally makes them physically ill over the whole process of ‘playing detective’. If there is no trust in the relationship, then why are you with them? You have to ask yourself that question if ‘you’ are the one playing detective. The majority of these people, who want to control their mates so badly, end up losing them all together. The stronger grip you have of your partner, the more they want to squirm out of that and be ‘free’. Your partner is not your pet. She is not a muppet on strings that needs to be told what to do, where to go, or who she can speak to. Your partner should be considered and treated as ‘your best friend’… What do best friends do? They communicate, they laugh together, they talk for long hours, they go out to dinner, and they love one another and would do anything-- anytime for each other… Best friends keep secrets; best friends accept one another and all of their flaws. Now if you can incorporate being lovers aside from being best friends, then you have it all.

Your best friend should be trusted. Why would she want to betray you? Why would she ever want to leave you? After all, you’re her best friend. If you only treat your partner as ‘a lover’---that’s when things go astray and start fizzling out. Being lovers is a magnificent thing. If you don’t have friendship for the base of that relationship, don’t rely on that bond to last very long. You will have the passion, the sparks and the zing zam zoom, but you won’t have the ability to make it a lasting, loving and fulfilling relationship. The red flags that you need to look out for are evident sometimes. One alarming factor is when one party decides to put down their partner. This can range from anything to putting down her appearance, making her feel unworthy, telling her she needs to improve herself, making statements such as weight—either over or under---or just unattractive, making remarks about anything that would make them feel insecure about who they are as a person. This type of behavior determines how the person wants to keep her partner ‘under her thumb’ so to speak; leaving her feeling as though she cannot find a better partner, making her want to stay in that relationship. Women go to drastic measures to try and keep their partner to ‘stay put’. Are we dogs? Don’t we have minds and hearts of our own where we would choose to be in that relationship? When you see partner with a long, gray trench coat, a magnifying glass and a detective hat, beware.

What about in social settings? Do you sense that eyes are being darted at you, staring at your every move, studying your behavior and where your eyes are landing? If you can notice this, don’t you think that others around you will pick this up as well? Of course they will. They get that ‘psycho’ look, almost crossing their eyes-- if by chance they feel you are looking a bit too long at someone you are speaking with. They become real quiet, observant, as if they are studying you like a bug. Where does this lead? It leads into a ripple effect of friends avoiding you and your girlfriend all together. They feel awkward talking to you while your significant other is standing by…watching…lurking…checking for any hidden innuendos that may be initiated. This makes anyone feel uncomfortable in this situation. It makes the other person talking to you feel bad about conversing with you for more than one minute. God forbid it’s a ‘bad’ night, you’ll hear it later on, when you are home away from your friends. Accusations being made about how long you stared into “Linda’s” eyes, or how close you and “Sylvia” were standing, or why “Josie” was complimenting you way too much on your outfit. They look for deeper meanings out of pure and innocent compliments. It’s as though they are trying too hard to catch you in the act of something that you are not aware of. It’s more of a sickness and a huge insecurity problem that needs to be addressed to a professional. Soon enough, you will start making excuses just to spend time with your friends, without your lover. That is sad all together, because your lover is someone you want to spend time with, someone who you can bring out and socialize with. Their detective hats are always on 24/7, and will not be taken off anytime soon, if she doesn’t get help. The obsessive thought patterns come rushing into their little heads leaving them to assume more bazaar myths about what you may be doing. God forbid if you are caught in a tiny white lie, it is the worse deceit they have ever known, and you are not forgiven, you are a liar, a cheater, a ‘betrayer’. For that one little white lie will make you look as though you just had an incredible sexual encounter with her sister or best friend---that’s how bad she will perceive this in her mind. Holding someone to tightly is a sure way to lose them.

I remember a story that my girlfriend told me. It was when she was a small child, and her parents had taken her to this petting zoo. She went over to the baby chicks and wanted to hold one of them. As she held the cute little baby chick, she gripped the little guy too tightly, leaving him to suffocate and die. She was holding him tightly because she thought the chick was so adorable and fell in love with him! The same is true for when you hold your partner too tightly, she will feel the pressure of your grip, leaving her to squirm out of your strong hold, or eventually dying spiritually. Two people in a union should have separate lives as individuals. They both posses different characters and traits that are unique. When they come together, it makes the union that much special and gratifying. Why do we have a hard time letting our mates be themselves? Why can’t they live a life that is all their own; yet share what they choose with us? Have we become that insecure that we are unable to let our partners fly? If we clip their wings and hold them down, most likely they will only end up resenting us, feeling depressed and full of anger. Your partner should be looked at as a beautiful exotic bird. Let her colors shine as she flies in the deep blue skies. Let her soar through the fields of friendship, family and love, and when she has trouble keeping her flight; make sure she knows you are there to lift her back up. If you do, she will always fly back to you, knowing where ‘home’ is.

Avoiding the Cults

It’s definitely frustrating living in a rural area where there are hardly anyone who shares the same lifestyle you do, or they are just hiding out somewhere under a rock too scared to crawl out due to a conservative town. You may have one or two gay bars around but they seem so far away and most of them are dives. Do people in the rural areas come to a point in their lives where they have to consider joining a cult? You may wonder what I am referring to...

Many lesbians will join some sort of lesbian support group. They go to meetings like clockwork as if they were in AA, sit in a circle with a bunch of steel chairs and talk about the challenges they face as a homosexual. They start reading literature, poetry they have written or form some sort of drum circle where they tell their problems as they pound a their hearts away Big Coffee urns and Styrofoam cups sitting on a long fold out table along with some cookies & treats that some folks brought in makes the meeting have that ‘AA feel’ to it.
“Hi I’m Debbie & I’m a lesbian…”
The group all answers simultaneously, “Hi Debbie.”

Is this an addiction? Or is being a lesbian who we are, what we were born as?
Women trickle in one by one hoping that she’ll find Miss Right as they sip their coffee as if it was going to relax them as a glass of wine would. Other women are at the other end of the table enjoying a nice brownie or indulging in a few chocolate chip cookies.
Not only will you get fat at these meetings, but you’ll get anxiety disorder from all the coffee consumed in one sitting. To tell you the truth, I’d rather meet women in a bar! You have many women saying, “Oh I am so sick of the bar scene.” Yeah, I can see that since we are so limited in that area—being if you live in a rural part of town, but you have to consider what comes walking into these ‘women groups’ as well. The good part about these groups is that most of these ladies come in alone oppose to coming in packs due to their embarrassment of joining these ‘cults’. There’s no wondering ‘who the other girl is’ or will you get your ear chewed off by her girlfriend or her ex that tagged along for the ride. I can see that being an advantage. After you got your caffeine fix and sugar high, you are now ready to sit for one full hour on those steel chairs that are enough to give you a bad case of hemorrhoids.

People, let me tell you—this is the same thing as group therapy, but without the medication recommendations. Now it’s time to introduce yourself, tell your name, where you live, how long you’ve been going down on women and why you are here in this group today—what do you plan to accomplish. (Getting laid, right?) As each one takes their turn, the whole group eyes that person as a potential prospect for a lover. The person talking feels the eyes gleaming at them, tugging at them, and feels how in heat this group really is. Most of this group hasn’t had sex in dog’s age, and some masturbated before leaving their house so there wasn’t any sexual tension if they should get aroused in this meeting.

When my ex girlfriend told me she was going to this ‘women’s group’, I laughed and thought to myself (out loud too probably) “It’s a cult!!!” In retrospect, I actually thought this would be a good thing for her since she was such an introvert and didn’t know how to socialize easily. This would give her a chance to meet other lesbian women. She explained that they met every Friday evening at 7pm in a big room behind a bar. Not a bad idea! I have to say that placing these meetings behind a bar is perfect ‘just in case’… After all that coffee, you’re going to want a stiff drink to help you come down from that caffeine high. This gave the girls an opportunity to talk over a cocktail if they were interested in one another. In that case, I didn’t think it was so bad after all, but I don’t think you’ll ever find me in one of those circles anytime soon. My ex-girlfriend explained how every Sunday they had a bowling night. This is where I draw the line folks! A bunch of dykes piling into a bowling alley –picture it! Some wouldn’t even have to change their shoes. I understand that they want to do events together and plan outings, but it’s so obvious when twenty lesbians come marching into an establishment.

About eight years ago, my girlfriend Madelene and I decided to go out with her best friend to a ‘lesbian group function’ at an Episcopalian Church. It was supposed to be a ‘dance’. Are we back in high school or just getting nostalgic? Why are we holding dances for people who are from the ages of 20-85??? Her friend Marcy showed me the flyer and it implied that there were snacks and beverages. Alright! Beverages! This was okay with me since I can sip my way to a good time. Wrong! I walk in with Madelene and Marcy, pay the ‘gals’ $8 bucks to walk over to a table that looked similar to the ones they hold at those lesbian group meetings. This time the goodie table was packed with orange soda, cherry coke, fruit punch, potato chips, cheese platters, veggie platters and a dessert and coffee section of the table. They even had a D.J. playing good music as though you were in a club. All the lovely women piled in as the music got louder and lights started to dim. All three of us remained in one corner of the room *sober* as we watched everyone move to each part of the walls. No one would go in the middle of what’s now the dance floor. Needless to say, we came in a ‘pack’ so no one knew who was with whom or who was single. It was quite confusing to other women. We were trying to help our friend meet other people, so I took Madelene out to slow dance—to indicate ‘this is my girlfriend and Marcy over there is single’… After the song, we walked back over to Marcy who was still standing there alone. We finally tried to encourage her to approach this cute pixie-like girl who was standing all by herself in a pretty dress. Marcy said she couldn’t because she was too shy. This is a big problem then. You cannot be shy at these functions especially if there is absolutely no alcohol there! Alcohol ‘to me’ is the absolute ice-breaker. With moderation it can make for good conversation and laughs. Hours later, raffles drawn off and the D.J. packing up to leave, we decided that it was time to leave this wonderful gathering and head home. Marcy left the dance without any phone numbers, just a bunch of pamphlets for upcoming events.

Lesbians try to get creative and think of innovated solutions on how to meet others in a different atmosphere other than the lesbian cult groups or the non-alcoholic dances.
My good friend Tammy who lives in New York City was in a book store when she noticed a section of the place holding some sort of group. As she walked closer she read the sign, “Dykes Who Knit”. “Hmm,” she thought to herself as she walked even closer to get a good gander at this darling group. They were all sitting on the floor Indian style knitting. These women were in the age group from 40-70, some wearing baseball caps and frumpy clothes. They sat there enjoying their knitting session. Tara had to run behind an aisle full of books behind a column to chuckle so no one would hear her. They literally had her in stitches.

There are books and articles in magazines suggesting us to meet other people with the same interests. I guess this is helpful, but have we come to a point where it is just down right desperate? The one thing I can really commend people on is ‘doing it on their own’. They have a park in New York City where it is only for walking your dog. What a great idea if you want to meet someone. Borrow a dog if you have to! If I were to try and meet someone, this would be it. Even if you have a park around your area, go out and walk your dog, or walk someone else’s dog just so you can meet different people. You get at least one or two comments of how cute your dog is. Believe me; I used to do this when I had my little Chihuahua. The problem was, I brought him out for a daily drag instead of a walk. This dog did not want to walk, he wanted me to pick him up like a little prince and cater to his every needs. I loved him, but I was laughed at rather than complimented on my cute little pup. One lady came up to me as I was trying to convince Poncho- my dog-- to walk with me instead of sniffing every single blade of grass. I heard a chuckle and it was from a lady with her well trained Labrador Retriever.
“Oh how funny, --what a cute dog!”
“Thanks, I just wish I can take him for a walk instead of a drag.” I replied.
“You just have to train him a bit more, he looks like a puppy, my husband spent a long time training Baxter.” she said.
“Yeah, it looks like he’s going to be taking me for a walk for a while.” I replied.
At this time, I was already in a relationship so I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend, but that’s how easy it is to have a conversation with someone of the same interest. If I were single, I wouldn’t waste another minute sitting there exchanging dog stories, so I spoke to her for a while as a friend because I wasn’t looking for anything else. People will generally tell you about their husband or family in a conversation when you are first meeting—whether straight or gay. Sometimes it’s more challenging to meet other gay people in a more heterosexual environment, but it makes it a lot of fun in my opinion. Wouldn’t it be ideal to tell your friends that you and your partner met in a straight establishment or environment? The first question people will ask if you don’t look ‘gay’—“Well how did you two know you were both lesbians?” Some would say they have ‘gaydar’. This is just a ‘feeling’ or ‘gut instinct’ of one being a lesbian. You just know.